Trying to push the past away:
by Grey Pigeon
Summary: Enslaved in his childhood and continually abused, Legolas leads a hard life in Mirkwood. One horrible day changes everything, and the Elf's very fëa is at stake. Finally Legolas ends up given to the Lord of Imladris. What will his new Master do?
1. Unacceptable gift

..::TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY::..

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

GENRE: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Romance

WARNINGS: heavy AU, Legolas OOC. This story contains slash, means male/male relationship. Angst, torture, violence, physical/mental/drug abuse, rape. Emotional impact at detailed scenes of healing. Special warnings will be placed before each chapter.

SUMMARY: Enslaved in his childhood and continually abused, Legolas leads a hard life in Mirkwood. One horrible day changes everything, and the Elf's very fëa is at stake. Finally Legolas ends up given to the Lord of Imladris. What will his new Master do?

CHARACTERS: Legolas, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan & Elrohir, Erestor.

TIMELINE: 2530 year of the Third Age. Celebrian has sailed over the sea twenty years ago. The new darkness is growing in Dol Guldur. Aragorn is not yet born.

FEEDBACK: Highly appreciated and desired! I try to answer every review. Thanks for reading!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Final and remastered edition. Seemingly my attachment to this story is far too great to leave it just so.

Chapter I : UNNACCEPTABLE GIFT

/*/

The forest was silent.

The thick mist of the steamy morning of _laer_ (1) was crawling over the wet, slick grass between the mossy trunks of trees. No bird disturbed the silence of the last couple of hours before the sunrise. The sky was still deep dark blue, despite the thin line of pink light peeking in the East, in the direction they were heading to. It was hampered by the trees, and the shy light was all but lost amidst surrounding darkness.

There were no stars either; no real, warm light one could take hope from, only a pale blue glow curling over sparkling, heated mist. The air itself was hot and all seemed sticky, sweat making clothes cling to bodies, dampening hair and plastering it to necks. Unnatural silence only heightened the overwhelming impression that the nature itself was wearied by the humid air.

"Why are you not sleeping. You know you will not be able to take a nap on horseback."

The tired, resigned whisper came from the left. A dark-haired Elf glanced at his companion, curled into huge roots of an old willow, who was shivering slightly despite the heat. His smaller, thinner form was pressed tightly to the root by his back, his blond head resting on the ground, both his hands securely enfolded around his ribs in a defensive attitude, as if to conserve warmth.

"The tree is whispering," he said quietly after a while. "It's talking to me."

The dark one sighed, brushing his brown hair out of sight. He glanced thoughtfully at the famished creature. He looked so fragile in comparison to the huge roots he had pressed his back to. Pale hair surrounded his head with matted and dirty knots, tattered garments were positively filthy by now after ten days of traveling. They were giving no protection from the cold which the Elf must have been feeling, given his constant, steady and visible trembling.

"Try to sleep, Legolas," the Elf said finally. "At least try. The tree will understand. Do you want my blanket?"

The blond one didn't answer, only closed his eyes and turned his face away. Yet his tremble only increased at the thought of being covered with something warm. The Elf crouching near him only sighed and lifted his blanket from the moss.

"Move, Legolas," he whispered. "Give me some room."

When the Elf scrambled forward, slightly away from the root, his companion simply laid down beside him, tucking the blanket around him and pressing the tense back to his chest. The struggle came immediately.

"Moreth, no…" the blond whined trying to evade the touch, but was silenced sharply by an iron hold on his arm.

"It's only about warmth. Calm down" The brown one said. He could feel high fever causing the Elf to shake, and could see an unhealthy flush covering both his cheeks in ugly red. _How long it is to the sunrise…?_ Moreth counted.

'_Tis too early still_, he concluded finally, gazing to the East. He turned to his friend then, stroking his arm in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "You will have to endure an hour more, Legolas. You will do this for me, won't you?"

Legolas didn't answer. He was still and tense as a bowstring, allowing Moreth's touch, but praying for it to disappear. A sigh which was hardly calm was everything Moreth could come up with. He was hot and tired, but determined to endure for the sake of his friend. He sensed his irritation at being interrupted when listening to the tree and being ordered to sleep, but Moreth knew better. If Legolas could catch one more hour of sleep, he should; they were so close to their destination. This terrible march from Mirkwood would soon end. Unfortunately, Legolas' endurance was reaching its limits as well.

The dawn was dark and quiet - too quiet for the thickness of the forest they were in.

Were there no living creatures here? Were these woods dead? The Elf held in Moreth's arms whimpered silently. The very atmosphere of this place was beginning to weigh down on him. He took absolutely no comfort in the arm around his middle; if anything, it was just one more discomfort to endure. There was not much warmth in Moreth also. He was almost as depressed as his friend. The very scent of the other male, his tiredness and strange hardness of the bony chest could bring no reassurance, so the gesture of comfort reversed into an odd, cold and hated habit, causing only more damage to the already abused soul. Legolas buried his face in hands and pressed his cheek to the soft moss. It was damp and clammy.

The last quiet hour before departing was the most exhausting and painfully slow, bringing no sleep, only the soul-consuming wait until the torment of enforced, arid rest ended.

/*/

It was close to midday when the party of eleven Elves was stopped by armed guards.

The contingent was heading to Imladris, carrying a message and gifts from the King of the Mirkwood Forest himself. The group was small, rather poorly provisioned and not heavily armed, but still capable of defending against an unexpected obstacle like an orc attack.

Seven of them, appearing to be warriors, were tall and powerfully built, with apparent craftsmanship to be taken into consideration should it come to a fight. Two others were clad in an envoys' green cloaks and fur collars, so the warriors behind appeared to be their escort. There were also two dirty, tired Elves sharing one mare; the brown haired one, sitting behind the elfling he cradled, was holding himself upright and leading the horse with one hand, his green eyes scared, but determined. The child sitting in front of him was leaning forward, holding the mare's mane for dear life, his wrists clad in iron.

"We cannot let you pass now," the guard said loudly, eyeing the strange group suspiciously. "You shall not enter the realm on your own."

"We are the envoys of King Lathronios of the Mirkwood Forest, and we are heading to see Elrond the Peredhel of Imladris. You will let us pass."

"I heard that the first time. The answer is still no." the Elf responded. He was wearing the colors of Elrond's house, holding his hand ready on his short sword, the typical weapon carried by all guards in the range of sight. The Imladrian party was quite numerous and well organized. The border, for the border it was where the contingent has been stopped, was obviously well guarded.

"You must let us pass, we have important business to conduct here," the Mirkwood envoy spoke with calmness he was far from feeling.

"I said you will not enter the realm alone," the guard repeated stubbornly. "You will have to wait until midday and come with the guards assigned to that task, when their substitutes appear to change them."

"We have no time to spare for waiting!" the envoy said, finally losing his patience. "I see royal envoys are considered not much better than common criminals here, if they need to be led under guard. It is an insult of our King!"

"It is just an assurance of safety, yours as much as ours. We have no permission to let any armed contingent within Imladris. We bear you no ill will." The Elf gestured to a few of his companions to help the newcomers settle down in the camp and they came closer, ready to help. "You shall see Lord Elrond very soon. It will take only an hour to midday and two more to get to the Last Homely House."

The envoys glanced at each other. Irritated, but convinced eventually, they dismounted their stallions and gave the reins over to awaiting guards who led them further away, someplace they could drink and rest after the journey. The warriors followed the example without further arguments. The guard seemed contented with such outcome hoping for some.

In the small bustle the two Elves at the rear were almost forgotten, but the darker one attempted to dismount as well, deeming he needs no explicit permission to do so as it was obvious they wouldn't be setting off in an hour's time. He slipped down quite easily, but his companion needed help. He was uncooperative and seemed to have barely registered that they have been halted at the border.

One of the contingent warriors turned to the two, asking something sharply. The Imladris guard frowned at the tone and glanced over his shoulder, only to see that the blond one refused to answer, which earned him a blow across the cheek that sent him flying down from the horse and landing in the other Elf's extended hands. The guard had no time to shake off his shock, for the armed Elf reached to lift the abused captive up and hit him once again, this time with a nasty looking riding crop he held.

The smaller form was shielded by the other Elf's own body and pushed down to the grass with a sharp order to sit under the tree. The guard, who just ran towards them to put a stop to what was happening, was now close enough to hear the furious words of the warrior Elf.

"How dare you, slave! Move out of the way!" he said angrily, reaching to grab the Elf's shoulder when his order was ignored. He never managed to touch the brown-haired one, though.

"What is this?" the guard demanded, standing between them. "What is this, I ask? What are you doing?"

"These are just slaves," the answer came. "They needed to be shown their place."

The guard found himself speechless; with a quick turn he saw that the taller Elf was no longer standing behind him, but kneeling near his friend - who was no child as previously thought, but a grown male, only so underfed and crumpled on the ground that he looked rather minute.

"Imladris does not adhere to slavery," the guard said finally with renewed determination. "Being in our borders, you will abide our laws; you will not beat them in my presence. Put it down," he gestured at the whip. The warrior glanced briefly at the envoys' direction, but indeed put the crop back near his saddle and turned to his horse, having no incentive to argue with Imladris guard.

"Strange customs indeed in this valley." He muttered, displeased.

"For me, strange is your brutal treatment of them. Why are you leading slaves into our realm? What is this all about?"

"We were ordered to deliver them, the envoys know more," the Mirkwood Elf responded, tending to his horse and taking his pack off its back. "The blond one is to stay here as far as I know. The other is here to help."

"What do you mean, stay here?"

"I know not. What is so strange that you cannot understand, guard? Is slavery something surprising for you?"

"Indeed it is! How come you…" the guard hesitated, both lacking of civilized words and unwilling to start a quarrel with one of the contingent. The other Elf arched an eyebrow at this clamor and laughed quietly, walking away.

The guard turned immediately to the slaves he has just saved and hesitantly knelt next to the blond, who was sitting under the tree with his knees brought up to his chest. He was staring dully at one of the stains on his grey leggings. His breath was ragged and easily heard.

"…Sir?" the brown one sounded after a while. His voice was hesitant and very quiet. It seemed like he was not allowed to speak to strangers.

"My name is Gwaithtir. I am the chief guard of Imladris border. Don't be afraid." He said, looking at the Elf.

"I am Moreth. How can I help you, Sir?"

Gwaithtir returned to staring at the figure sitting unmoving near the tree trunk. Slowly he extended a hand to touch the gash on his forehead, now closed and covered in brownish scabs, but hurting and swollen. The Elf flinched from the hand, turning his head away and closing his eyes like a child would, clumsily lifting his hand to protect his head from the possible blow.

"Don't touch him, Sir, please," Moreth said quickly, uncaring that he was forgetting his place. "Please, he's scared."

Gwaithtir lowered his hand, but the Elf didn't move. Moreth came for help and delicately taking his friend's hand in his, he put it neatly down. Then he took a waterskin from where it was attached to the saddle and put it in the other Elf's hands.

"Drink," he ordered, and the Elf complied, refusing to look at anything except his own hands. He looked like deafened after a hit on the head by a sledgehammer.

"What… has happened to him?" Gwaithtir asked.

"He is just…" Moreth hesitated. But looking at the guard he saw true concern in his eyes; desperate as he was now, he was ready to accept every form of help, from wherever it came, so he settled for the truth. "He had spend some time in the dungeons before we set off. He's exhausted and very scared. I… I wish he could rest and see a healer, Sir… Are we far from the Last Homely House?"

"No," Gwaithtir answered, his brow furrowed in worry. "No, we're not. Three more hours and you will be there. How I am to help you, what do you need?" He asked then, abandoning the staring at the prone body before him with effort.

"Thank you for your kindness, Sir, but… nothing can be done now," Moreth said quietly. "He needs to rest, and to see a healer… but… I don't know, if…" the Elf hesitated, feeling the old fear creep back into his heart. What if his friend _wouldn't_ see the healer in Imladris?

"Lord Elrond is the best healer I know. He will take care of your friend. Is he badly injured?"

Moreth shook his head no. The guard's curiosity was slightly uncomfortable in their current state. It needed only one displeased look from the envoys and a punishment would await them.

"But what that one meant when he said he is to stay here?" The guard pursued. Moreth squirmed in himself, considering the situation. He couldn't say much.

"I… have no idea, Sir," he whispered finally, praying for this to work. The guard sighed.

"If you are to see Lord Elrond, you cannot just go into the Council Hall like that," Gwaithtir observed. "I mean, he is in no shape for that, all bloodied and in rags." He wrinkled his nose slightly, worryingly glancing at Moreth. "Will your friend endure a bath?"

Moreth nodded. "I just hadn't had a chance to wash him properly on the road."

"Alright then, I think he may feel better after a bath, it's so hot today… We shall give you some new clothes, and a blanket or two, then you will eat something." Gwaithtir said. "The spring is over there. I shall tell your… superiors, don't worry about that," the guard lifted a hand to silence Moreth's attempt to protest. "If you are quick, you will have a chance to take your rest afterwards. I shall see to it that you are allowed."

"Thank you, Sir." Moreth whispered. He was taken to the tent then, where Gwaithtir had an unpleasant talk with the envoys, but received their reluctant permission and a key to the chain holding the blond Elf's wrists together. A towel and some spare clothes of the guards' were found and Moreth could return to his friend, still sitting unmoving under the tree, but trembling visibly while left alone.

The camp, placed in a neat glen in the woods was seemingly stationary, assuming from the fact that there was a hot spring behind the meadow. The spring was not very deep, and shielded from view by thick bushes, probably left untouched exactly for the purpose of privacy. The water was hot indeed, but in such a humid day it couldn't send Legolas into shock when immersed. Moreth sighed contently. Finally he could do something.

He undressed his friend quickly, simply tearing the rags open to minimize the effort it required from the blond Elf. Moreth hadn't had even a belt to hold the loose tunic closer to Legolas' body; his tattered, worn out boots were attached to his feet by long, thin straps of fabric, so that they stayed on.

Legolas was silent and still when Moreth washed him. He was just sitting in the water, letting his friend do all the work, concentrating on obeying the commands and enduring the touch. When he was finally clean, multicolored bruises were standing in dark relief on the clean, pale flesh, but at least all accidentally reopened wounds were now clean.

With all the dried blood, dust and grime from the road washed away, his hair was finally its previously fair gold color. Sparse and thin, just as mistreated as its owner, it lay wet on his back as Moreth cleaned the gash on the pale forehead.

Helping him out of the water, Moreth thoroughly dried Legolas with the borrowed towel, then sat him on the blanket spread on the grass. At night Legolas was deadly cold, but now the heat was affecting him more than others, so the other blanket was left on the ground instead of covering the thin shoulders. Leaving him with an order not to leave the spot, Moreth proceeded to wash up, taking comfort in the warm, soothing water for a few short minutes he spared for tending to himself.

Looking at the clothes they were given Moreth chose a simple white tunic for Legolas, as it was smaller, and gray leggings which should fit him better. A thin belt was tied around his waist in a rough knot, as being buckled with a clasp it was still too loose. He kept only his old boots, for Moreth got none to replace them. The final outcome was a bit pathetic, for the garments were too big and hung on Legolas unflatteringly; but that would have to do. In any case, it was better than the dirty, tattered rags he had been wearing until now and the sickening smell of sweat mixed with blood.

Moreth folded their old clothes and put them in his pack. He glanced at the sun – they had half an hour before the change of guards came, so Legolas would be able to rest a little more before being jostled on a horse again. Gathering Legolas' knotted hair back, he tied them together with one of the straps so that he could feel a little bit cooler.

"Legolas, listen to me now," Moreth said quietly, kneeling in front of him and looking around to ascertain that they were alone. "Look at me. Legolas."

The Elf glanced up and some focus appeared on his tired face, but with difficulty.

"Look. Here are the leaves I was giving you during the road. See?" Moreth showed him a small paper sachet with innocently looking, small brown leaves in a wavy shape. "From now on you will have to take them yourself. Do you understand?"

A nod, albeit hesitant, was his response. Blue eyes slowly filled with tears at the thought that he would be soon left alone.

"No, no, don't cry. Focus. You must remember!" Receiving attention again, Moreth nodded. "Good. You take one leaf each morning - only one per day. Don't you dare to take more than that! You must not, understand? A whole day must pass between taking one leaf and the other. Twenty four hours, do you understand?"

Legolas nodded. He took the sachet in his hand and uncertainly glanced up at Moreth.

"Hide it, don't lose it. You know you must take the medicine. You cannot lose it. Don't show anyone you have this, for they will take it away or worse." A serious nod came and Legolas hid the sachet under his tunic. "Good. Now come, you will rest a little more and then we shall be off."

Moreth smiled when Legolas obediently stood up, taking the two blankets with him, but his eyes lost their focus and he returned to just doing what he was told, without thinking. He followed Moreth and laid the blankets under the tree from earlier, then obediently gave his hands to the Elf from the contingent who had hit him before, to let him put the shackles on again and close them tightly.

"So I see you bathed?" the immediate taunt came. "Maybe that was a good idea, you had started to stink badly. What would your new Master say…? Come here, slave, I have something for you," The Elf said and Legolas obediently stepped closer, knowing better than to provoke his anger again.

In the warrior's hand appeared a brown leather collar. Legolas's eyes went wide and he stepped back, suddenly aware and wholly conscious; in seconds he was grabbed roughly close again. The cruel leather was buckled on his nape tight enough to cause discomfort and hamper breathing, especially in such a warm day. Legolas whimpered pitifully when pushed on the ground again, where he curled tightly and covered his head with hands. Whimpering, he tried with one hand to lever the collar looser, even only a bit, putting his fingers between the leather and the skin of his throat, but to no avail.

"Shush, I am here," Moreth said to his friend, kneeling close to the trembling form. The shoulder which he touched him shrugged violently to shake the hand off – and so Moreth stepped back. He just sat close by, letting his head fall down, supported by a tree trunk.

Desperately wishing to reach Lord Elrond's palace, Moreth was left with nothing but prayers. Billions of important questions were pounding in his head, demanding answers; and more - immediate answers. Frustration and fear kindled in his veins when Moreth thought he might be leading his friend so far and so long only to see him finally die of exhaustion and his wounds, and not only physical ones at that. There were four more leaves in the sachet Legolas received. For how long will that last…? Four days more? And then what? _We_ _will set off and head for Mirkwood tomorrow, I will never know_ _what then_, Moreth thought and his heart clenched painfully.

The thin back on the grass arched and shifted in a try to find a more comfortable position which wouldn't hamper breathing. Moreth didn't intend to help, he knew he would be rejected.

The forest was not so quiet anymore. This time it was almost too loud to Moreth's exhausted senses. The tree behind him stirred, sensing his distress.

And started whispering.

/*/

The Last Homely House was totally different from any possible image both Legolas and Moreth could have had in mind. It was not a thing like the huge, stone fortress in Mirkwood, which cut into the gray sky with its regular, heavy, unpleasant form.

With a strange lightness the slender buildings grew near the stone walls of the valley, like ivy on the thread, creating a delicate and complicated structure of entwined corridors, small towers, never-ending stairs, thin roads and semicircular porches. This Elven town was so bright, so clean and airy. The small kingdom hidden from view of others, shielded by the rocky mountains, with the characteristic building of the Palace it its center. The whole city seemed not to touch the ground on which it was built.

Having dismounted long ago, Legolas and Moreth were separated. Legolas was led by the chain near one of the envoys, while Moreth was moved to the rear. Now and then the blond Elf would shoot his friend a look, more and more terrified as they were approaching to their destination, but a sharp tug on the chain or a hit in his already abused head reminded him not to glance behind. No time for that. No way out.

Legolas was alone.

Through the huge, red, wooden doors they walked into a large chamber, which must have been Lord Elrond's audience hall. The beautiful furniture and white, stone walls brightly lit with daylight coming through many windows made Legolas stare in admiration without thinking of the consequences. He received a hard hit to his head again and so he settled for looking only at the floor. This was bad, in this position there was nothing to distract him from the anguish in his body. His left ankle was shooting pain up his leg, his broken ribs hurt every time he drew breath and the vicious collar drove him mad. Despite the washing in the spring, he was bathed in sweat. He was weak and dizzy; the long journey and the heat did its work of exhausting him past endurance. And now, when in mere minutes his fate would be sealed, he was feeling the unbearable assault of thoughts – a potent mix of despair, fear and fragile hope. Legolas felt like fainting. Hiding in an empty shell, putting a blank mask on his face and escaping into stillness and indifference deep, deep within him wasn't working any more. He bit his lip and promised himself that he would endure.

He was marched further, through the light gray stone floor near the stairs leading to a podium where a few Elves stood around the huge, red table, all dressed in rich robes. Legolas bent his head lower as they approached, not to be accused of disrespect. They were the high royalty of Imladris, and he wasn't allowed to look his betters in the eye. In his current field of vision Legolas could only see many pairs of feet walking around and down the stairs; long robes half-covered their shoes. Wonderful shoes, Legolas thought, comfortable and warm, with real soles, not a scrap of clothing meant just to cover your foot, but to protect from pebbles and rocks on the road.

"Lord Elrond, a gift from King Lathronios of Mirkwood Forest," Legolas heard the voice. Daring to cast a glance up, he saw an Elf dressed in silver robes standing at the base of the low steps leading to the podium, where the table was placed.

The Elves standing there turned their attention to them, setting aside their papers; one briskly approached the group.

"Welcome to my home," said the Elf in a deep, pleasant voice. Legolas assumed it was Lord Elrond. "What news do you bring?"

"Our King sends sincere thanks for the help Imladris has given Mirkwood. We really appreciated the food and healing supplies, my Lord. I have letters from King Lathronios for you," said the leader of the group. "Also, our King wants to repay you personally for your kindness, my Lord. He sends you rare plants from our woods known from their healing abilities, as well as this slave here, for your personal use." The leader moved back a little so that Legolas was now seen. He knelt, happy to ease the weight on his aching ankle, and bowed his head even lower.

The few Elves standing behind the Lord of the valley made some displeased noises at the news. Legolas recognized outraged whispers and shocked intakes of breath. The Lord himself however was silent and unmoving.

"A slave…?" one of royalty behind Elrond whispered loud enough to be heard. "What use may possibly come from a slave…?"

Legolas felt cold sweat on his forehead. _They are already displeased with me, what will they say when they find out precisely what use can they have of me?_ Legolas' heart skipped a bit. He could imagine the look of loathing and despise they were wearing.

"He is for you, my Lord," the leader spoke again at the noises, "to become your personal servant. King Lathronios was assured that you will find the best way to put him into a good use, my Lord." Legolas could easily detect amusement in the leader's voice and felt his cheeks burn. How much he wished to see the reaction of the Elf standing before him, yet dared not to move.

"He is also a good singer," the leader continued, without any ironic note now, and Legolas's head started spinning from relief. "Probably the best from our slaves. The King had hoped that he will please you, my Lord. Your land is known for its love of music."

Silence remained throughout the court. The Elf Lord in front of them made no sound at the revelations and Legolas started to feel uneasy again after a short while of relief. Is he going to be accepted? Or is he not good enough? _The Lords didn't like the idea from the beginning, and after the guard's introduction all they feel is despise. He won't keep me, I look awful. He will reject me… And I will… no, not Mirkwood again, please…!_ Legolas thought desperately. He shut his eyes close, waiting for the inevitable. One word from the Lord and Legolas would positively meet his death.

Elrond still said nothing and when the messenger handed him the keys to the chains hanging from Legolas' wrists, he accepted. _Is it done? Did he agree?_ Legolas could not calm his thoughts, still waiting for the Elf Lord's response. He heard none. The leader politely resumed his speech and signaled the Elves behind him to leave.

The delegation left the baskets on the floor, around kneeling Legolas. He saw with the corner of his eye that they were slowly moving back to leave the hall, but Elrond halted them. Legolas' breath stuck in his throat.

"Wait," the Lord slowly began. "As much as I respect King Lathronios, I cannot accept the gift of a slave," he said in a low voice. His voice seemed not angry, but hardly calm — more like stunned and confused. "I will never agree..."

"My Lord," interrupted one of the Mirkwood Elves. Moreth, Legolas thought immediately, Moreth, 'tis you! The leader made an irritated noise, but Elrond waved a hand dismissively at him and let the Elf speak.

"Please accept him, my Lord," Moreth started hesitantly. "If you do not… and we have to take him back with us… the King won't hesitate to claim he is worthless and he will mete out a punishment for a failure…"

Legolas shut his eyelids close again, expecting the worst. 'Let me stay, let me stay, let me stay,' he was repeating in his mind frantically, feeling dread and cold sweat at the mere thought of being dragged back to the Mirkwood fortress. But even though he was shaking visibly, he forced himself to be still; if he collapsed on the floor or said but a word, it could be considered as an offense. The situation was bad already and Legolas knew that the leader of the group will punish Moreth for speaking without permission. Another sting of panic added to his distress. Guilt and thankfulness choked him to the point where he thought he would fall face-first to the floor if this lasts a second longer.

Lord Elrond stared at the Elves for a moment and considered the sheer desperation in Moreth's eyes. Finally he spoke, looking at the small figure swaying on his knees at his feet.

"You will be shown where you can rest before departing to your homeland," Elrond told the leader of the group. "Feel free to ask for anything you need and be assured that no harm will come to you here. Have your rest today. Lord Erestor will see to your care. As for the slave, he may stay. Tell your King he has my gratitude for the gifts."

The Lord ignored surprised whispers of the royalty at all. With a quick word to a young boy on his left a message to Lord Erestor was on its way and shortly after the boy went out another Elf came into the chamber; Legolas dared a quick glance up and met two disorientated eyes of a nobly looking Elf, staring at him with barely restrained curiosity, before he turned away and saw to his Lord's orders. Bowing, he led the Mirkwood group out of the hall and ordered others to retrieve the baskets. Soon the hall looked as before: clean, grey, and empty.

Legolas shuddered as realization hit him; he belonged to Lord Elrond now. His friend was walking away with the group of Mirkwood Elves, and he was being left alone. His head swam and so he returned to staring at the floor to have a point of reference; he was staying in Imladris… something was choking him deep in his throat and he swallowed nervously, but it did not help much. He wondered how it is possible that the Lord in front of him could not hear the thundering of his heart, which was beating so fast now that it hurt.

Struggling not to fall over, Legolas waited. He saw two legs covered with beautiful, rich robes coming closer and standing directly in front of him.

"Please stand," Lord Elrond said as he placed his wide hands on Legolas's arms to pull him up.

Legolas tried to stand without hissing in pain, but failed and swayed ungracefully. Another blush of shame covered his cheeks and he did not dare to raise his eyes. He kept his head bowed, as taught.

Gently and with some hesitancy Lord Elrond lifted Legolas's chin. Still the blond slave refused to look him in the eye. Taught that someone only lifted your head to better evaluate and judge you, Legolas immediately lowered his head when the fingers were removed.

"Look at me." Lord Elrond commanded as he raised Legolas's head again.

It was clearly an order, so the Elf obeyed immediately. He saw that Elrond had a calm, kind face, totally different than he previously thought, and the eyes which were looking at him with gentleness and curiosity were not cold and evil. Elrond had a high forehead, long nose, finely arched brows and warm grey eyes. His face was framed by dark brown hair that fell loosely around his shoulders and down his back with thin braids in front of his delicate, narrow, lightly rounded ears. He looked regal and powerful in his glory as a Lord. Legolas could sense the dignity and wisdom within. It lingered on this Elf and marked him as the one who should be regarded or even feared.

"Like this. Hold your head high. Do not lower it other than briefly as a sign of respect. What is your name?" Elrond asked, releasing Legolas's wrists from the chains. All the Elf could do was blink surprised and stare at his freed hands. He did not know what exactly he can do with them now, so he just let them dangle on his sides defenselessly, hoping it would not be considered as an offense.

"My name is Legolas," he finally managed to say.

"Legolas, son of...?"

"Son of no one," was the quiet reply as he lowered his head again. Elrond gave the boy a sharp look. He had to lift his chin once more.

"Stay here," his new owner ordered as he turned to a tall blond Elf dressed in riding clothes, seated at the table. Legolas found him impeccably handsome, but he looked obviously bored with the council and a look of resignation appeared on his noble features as he took the letters from his Lord.

Using the moment when his new Master turned his back to him, Legolas quickly looked around the hall, more to see where the exit is than to admire its beauty, but nevertheless what he saw stunned him. There were marble sculptures so real that he swore that the marble maiden in the corner would stand up from her base and begin dancing any moment. But what amazed him the most was the brightness of the room itself. Light poured in from huge windows all around the room and it was such a stunning view. There were very few windows in the Mirkwood fortress.

Elrond came back and took a closer look on the elfling standing before him, causing Legolas to bow his head again. One thing Elrond knew for certain - both from quick, panicked glances around the room and the constant trembling which shook the elfling in waves: Legolas was terrified to the core.

Well, small wonder. He was just given to the keep of another like a thing. He would never see his home again, his friends, his family; and the unknown Master was one to be afraid of. But there was certainly more to that tremble.

Elrond could see that the Elf was unwell. His skin was grayish, his lips bitten and dry; he kept his head submissively bowed not to show his teary eyes, which were blue, but the color was turbid and dull, like one of a disturbed forest pool. The long gash on his forehead had barely closed and was still fresh enough to leak with sluggish blood. His cheek, even if covered by hair partially and hidden from view, was swollen and bruised in an interesting shade of morbid violet. The slave was standing crookedly, as if trying to put as little pressure on his left leg as possible. The clothes he wore were much too big for him; they were surprisingly clean and resembled the clothing of guards patrolling the border. Elrond recognized the round seal of his house embroidered on the left arm. If the guards lent him their clothes, how must have looked his old ones? – Elrond mused. The always present healer hidden in the noble Lord studied every inch of Legolas, looking for some clues which could prompt him details of the ordeal the child was through. The frightened, haunted expression on his face was a proof enough that the road he has underwent exhausted him completely and robbed him of any hope he had left. Elrond did not miss the irony in the leader's voice earlier. He wondered what he had been referring to, yet looking at the boy now, Elrond could not tell whether the suspicions gathering in his head were correct or not.

And then there was the leather collar, a device one would not fasten even on a dog's nape.

Elrond's brow furrowed.

"To be honest, I have no idea what to do with you. We do not adhere to slavery in Imladris," Elrond told the Elf, extending a hand to touch his face. Seeing it, Legolas flinched, but forced himself under control to be able to reply.

"I will do my best, Master, I swear… I will do whatever you order me, Master, it is..." Legolas hesitated.

"It is what?" the Lord asked quietly.

"It's what I am here for, Master," came the quiet response.

That answer was worrying indeed. Elrond decided to give this matter some more thought before pursuing it further. He reached with his hands instead to untie the cruel leather, but the movement made the terrified elfling back away from the immediate reach, even against his will to stay still and prove to be an obedient, good slave. Elrond saw real panic in the youngster's eyes, so he stopped his hands in the air, holding them well visible, palms up, and whispered soothingly.

"I mean no harm. I just want to take off that wretched thing."

Legolas obviously didn't believe him, as his reaction was merely to stand where he stood for a long moment, fighting the upcoming tears and the will to bolt through the door and run for his life. Finally, with enormous effort, his body moved forward, his head bent and he surrendered himself to whatever blow would come. He couldn't stop shaking and he closed his eyes, trying to cut himself off the reality. Elrond fought the sudden, wild urge to just grab him and hold fiercely, whispering that all will be well from now on; such a gesture would be undoubtedly misunderstood and would bring only more damage. Instead, slowly, but with certainty, Elrond brushed the matted hair out of the way and delicately worked with the clamp of the collar. It came off with difficulty, the leather hard and sturdy, but finally Elrond had it in his hand. What he saw under the leather was a wide stripe of violet and blue bruises, covering the entire neck with an unmistakable pattern of a harsh, thick rope.

Legolas lifted one hand to his neck, touching the abrasions and nursing his aching flesh, almost disbelieving that Elrond kept his word and undid the collar. He took a deeper breath and gasped silently at the pain it still caused.

"I will put you under Erestor's care for now." (2) Lord Elrond began quietly. He signaled to an Elf standing in the doorway. "He is my head of household and will find you proper lodging and such. For today I want you to rest, and we will see about tomorrow, alright? Good. Now go on, my Elves will lead you."

He reached slowly again and stroked the fair head of the newest citizen of Imladris. That elicited a flinch as well, but not as violent as the ones before, and Legolas recalled to surrender to the stroking hand faster this time around. The unexpected caress was completely confusing, and not knowing what to do, the slave attempted to kneel again. He was gently stopped by Elrond's hands. He saw his Master shaking his head.

"You do not have to kneel before me, Legolas."

Silence. A strange stare. A few rapid blinks. But then, as if coming to a decision, Legolas bowed, the lowest he could; then, turning away from his Master, he started walking. Just to be certain that he did the right thing, or maybe just disbelieving, he glanced behind at his new keeper. He saw him smile and nod.

Totally confused, he left the hall as quickly as he was able to without showing the injured ankle. His new Master and the blond Elf at the table exchanged meaningful looks while watching him walk away.

(1)_ laer_ is sindarin name of summer. I used sindarin here as Legolas would rather use this language than quenya. The Elves counted seasons differently, there were six of them in each year. Here they are: spring, summer, fall, dusk, winter, thaw. In quenya: _tuil__ë, __lair__ë__, y__â__vi__ë__, quell__ë__, hr__í__v__ë_ and _coir__ë_. In sindarin: _ethuil, laer, iavas, firith, rh__î__v_ and _echuir_.

(2) We know little about Erestor. In some fics authors prefer to portrait him as a more noble chief councilor, but I have chosen another approach and made him a head of Elrond's household. That's why he seems to have lower status and be more casual, carefree character.

(3) I say in advance: please forgive me if the exact Elvish words or names will mean the same in English, but sound differently; as far I have the books and appendixes only in Polish and I need to translate it roughly.

(4) NOTE ON TIME: I will be using names of the days and short seasons of the year in Sindarin and I will be sticking to the Elven calendar, but in few places you will find the measures of time like "two weeks" or "two months". I decided to leave it to make the story easier to follow. The Elven week has six days and they don't have months stricte at all, so it would be difficult to keep track of the timeline on the long run.


	2. Help those you can

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: None for this chapter.

Please review! ^^

Chapter 2: HELP THOSE YOU CAN

/*/

As soon as he exited the council hall, an Elven maiden had approached him. She was rather short, but indeed pretty, clad in a silvery dress, with her fair brown hair decorated with tiny pins in the shape of leaves which prevented her hair from falling in her eyes. Her little hands grabbed his elbow delicately, but with determination, while her warm eyes that were only curious and kind were studying his face. She courteously greeted him and asked his name.

"I will take you to Lord Erestor," she said smiling in a friendly way and started leading him through the corridor. The Elf standing in the doorway, working as a messenger, smiled at them and nodded his farewell. He too was dressed in silver. Legolas concluded that the 'household', as local slaves were called, wore those robes as a mark. He briefly wondered if he would be given such robes as well. It would be great to be clad in such soft fabric as this and give the borrowed, unfitting clothing back; yet Legolas could not help but feel uneasy. He had no idea if a slave of his kind would not be specially branded somehow. He would much prefer to be the same as others, but did not know if he was good enough for that.

His thoughts wandered confusedly; he was still alert, but not as panicky as before. His mind was slowly calming down, processing the news he had heard. He was not going back to Mirkwood. Repeating this sentence in his head, he focused on deep breaths, working to regain control over himself. No Mirkwood now. No Mirkwood.

He was not going back to the torment which would be even worse than the last weeks, due to accusation of failing his King. Whatever awaited him here, it would not be that slimy dungeon again. Strangely, the two warm hands holding his elbow gave him an ephemeral feeling that he was being taken care of and relatively safe, or at least not left alone. He grabbed that thought with all his will to make it his point of reference.

The young maiden was casting him a curious glance from time to time, easily maneuvering them through the corridors. Legolas had a problem walking as fast as her, since his ankle was throbbing painfully every time he put pressure on it, so she had to adjust her pace. He dared not to complain however, or show any pain. 'Did Lord Elrond see the limp, when I was walking out?' Legolas asked himself. The impression he had made was very important. The fact that he was staying here was a miracle in itself, but it surely wasn't too late to hand him back to the Mirkwood delegation.

Legolas only hoped he did nothing to offend the Lord, being the most afraid of the involuntary flinch when his Master attempted to take the collar off. Still, if that was an offence, he would surely make a comment about that…? Maybe that was also why he was introduced as a singer. Revealing his real purpose here in front of the whole Imladris nobles would be impolite and completely improper. They were disgusted with the slave without that anyway. Yet that only meant the Lord would be told later, in private. That thought hung above the Elf like a doom-cloud.

Trying to distract himself, Legolas admired the open rooms that he could see through the doorways. His confusion only heightened with every step he took, for as far as he could see, the realm of Imladris looked like a peaceful, bright valley - a total opposite of the dark forest of Mirkwood. There were windows everywhere. The architecture was totally different than the heavy, geometrical buildings made from huge blocks of stone; light terraces, long, spiral corridors, thin stairs, vertical lines of balustrades carved like trees' branches, mingling at the top of the arches. Far away roofs were blue or dark brown, sinking into greenery of the tree tops. There was sun on the light blue sky. Here one could actually see the sky.

Finally Legolas turned his attention to the Elves of this beautiful realm. They were clean, their hair was combed and braided or decorated. None appeared to carry marks of beatings or bruises. They were all busy, but appeared quite content in their occupations. Legolas only stared in wonder. One passing maiden actually smiled at him. Valar, had he ever seen a slave who was smiling during work?

But then again… Lord Elrond smiled at him too.

Whatever this could mean, for now Legolas wasn't dying. He dared a small sigh of relief and hurried behind the girl, who led him a few corridors down to the lowest floor in the west wing of the house. They entered the rooms easily recognized as belonging to the kitchens, where Lord Erestor, whom Legolas recognized from his voice, was directing the work of the Elves and giving quick orders.

"Erestor, Sir, here is the Elf from Mirkwood," the maiden said. Erestor turned around briskly to face the stranger.

"Oh I see… Welcome, young one," he said with a smile. "Lord Elrond has sent you here, has he?"

"Yes, my Lord," Legolas answered, eyes observing the floor.

"What is your name and who exactly are you?" asked Elrond's head of household, drying his hands with a towel.

"My name's Legolas," he replied quietly, "and I'm a slave given to Lord Elrond by King Lathronios."

"A slave?" Erestor repeated slowly. "And... what I am supposed to do with you, Legolas? There aren't any and won't be any slaves in Imladris."

There was a short silence from Legolas, who felt a sting of panic. Aren't any and won't be any slaves…? So what is going to happen with him? But he was told he would stay here…

"Master Elrond said he was putting me into your care, my Lord," he said finally just beyond a whisper. Erestor hesitated, assessing the pitiful creature, but then sighed and put the towel down on the table nearby.

"Of course I will take care of you, little one. Come," he said with a gentle smile. He placed his hand on Legolas's shoulder and led him out of the kitchens into another chamber where clothing and linens were kept. Here he handed him a silver tunic and a new pair of leggings along with some soft, white towels. And so he got the household clothes after all. Legolas eyed them somehow mournfully; preparations to make him one of the local slaves were both uncomfortable and a bit scary. It felt like all memory of the previous Legolas was to be erased now. This was a new start. Was this a start to a new torment?

"Tell me what your duties were in Mirkwood" Erestor asked him, when he stepped down from the small ladder and closed the cupboard above his head. His vigilant eyes rested on the new Elf.

"I…," Legolas hesitated for a second, not knowing how much he could tell the Lord. He swallowed and started again, settling for half-truths, even though he risked a harsh punishment. "I did whatever I was told. I can tidy rooms, wash and repair laundry, work with horses, do garden or field work, I was taught a little of carving and working in the woods. I was helping with the walls of the fortress. I can help in the kitchens also."

Erestor immediately sensed a catch in this stream of words. He said nothing and smiled though, letting him end the list. He briefly eyed Legolas' appearance and all visible injuries; surely the road had not been easy on him. Some wounds looked bad, like the bruised neck and a cut on his forehead. The youngling was tense and must have been scared out of his mind. Erestor decided to lighten the atmosphere a little.

"And there was a rumour that you can sing," he joked.

"I can sing, my Lord." came the quiet answer.

"Hear that Neremiel? He calls me a Lord," Erestor said laughing. "Do not call me that, I prefer just Erestor. And you're a singer, you say... So tell me where that bruise on your cheek came from. Did you sing out of tune?"

Legolas's stomach churned. He could not tell! He was here from fifteen minutes and it would be already revealed that he had been beaten for disobedience? What impression would it leave? But, then, to lie would be even worse…

"I… fell, Sir," came the shaky reply. "From the horse."

It was not entirely a lie, but Erestor coldly suspected more. Yet, he made no further comment about that, much to Legolas' relief.

"Neremiel, show him the way to the baths, our new friend would surely like to refresh after the journey. Then a proper meal is in order. As we have no room prepared yet, Legolas can rest in a sleeping area, with the guards coming from their shift. The road must have been exhausting. Will you take care of it for me?" The head of the household turned to the Elven girl near, and she curtsied.

"Certainly Sir," she said.

"I suppose we will see each other tomorrow. Rest well, Legolas. Truth be told, you don't look very good. Are you alright?" Erestor asked.

"Yes, Sir. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Don't you want to visit the healing halls? That cut looks fresh."

"It's alright, Sir, I'm fine," Legolas shook his head a little too desperately, speaking to the floor, but it was nothing else Erestor suspected. He smiled sadly and sent Neremiel a knowing look.

"If you need any help, feel free to ask. Neremiel will help you, and I will do what I can. Until tomorrow, Legolas."

/*/

Legolas had never seen such beautiful baths before and certainly had never been allowed to use such. All of it was carved in a milk-white stone. It was not marble, as these were common baths for public use, situated in the lowest level of all in the East Wing, yet they were still exquisite. Five huge pools were modestly enclosed with wooden screens. Around the edges of washing basins the small trays with soap were placed, in an easy reach for everyone interested. The baths were empty at this time of the day, which Legolas was thankful for. He wouldn't have dared to strip otherwise; not only would the extent of his shameful injuries be revealed and they would think him a disobedient, troublesome gift with which they knew not what to do. He would have simply lacked the courage to undress in front of others.

Legolas was just about to step down into the pool, when he realized he couldn't do that. All the dried blood from his back and other grime would ruin the water and color it unmistakably red. How would he ever explain it? Glancing to the right, he saw wooden buckets near the wall. He took one and bailed some of the water, enough to wash with. He got a soft sponge from Neremiel when coming here, as well as some other utensils. Now he lathered the sponge generously and stepping into a hollow behind the other screen, he began scrubbing himself hard. He hated that he had not been allowed to bathe while they had been traveling and was glad to be finally clean. He was led to the hot spring when they reached Imladris border only because that tall warrior Elf ordered it. That bath was done in a hurry, and without any soap. On the following road he sweated much, for the heat was just unbearable. He yearned to be clean again.

He washed himself quickly with hard, almost painful movements of the sponge. Not exactly knowing why, he scrubbed fiercely, feeling strangely relieved with every wave of stinging pain of his torn skin. He recalled the offended noises of the royalty, hesitation of his new Master whether to accept him or not, strange mixture of feelings on Erestor's face when he said he was a slave. The first day showed to be a painful for him, and what was boiling up in him was a strong feeling of being worse: of being tainted, being despised. Images of his uncertain future appeared shadowy in front of his eyes, scaring, threatening and hurting.

Soap got into the few still unclosed wounds on his back and on his left thigh. It stung horribly, and even generous amount of water did not help much. The floor underneath him got a little red, the wounds started bleeding anew under his harsh treatment. His heart was beating wildly and serious dizziness settled in. Finally Legolas stopped and knelt on the cold floor, fighting the dizziness.

After a while he dared to rise again. He wrapped himself modestly in a towel from armpits to knees, bent over the edge of the small hollow and settled for washing his hair. This task was a troublesome one, for the dried blood and dirt simply would not disappear completely no matter how many times Legolas applied the soap. Finally, tired of the long lost fight, he rinsed it and got up. At least his hair wasn't filthy now, only matted and knotted, strangely un-Elven-like.

Glancing at the new clothes awaiting him on the stool nearby, Legolas thought briefly of Lord Elrond, so kind and sympathetic. He treated him unbelievably well. These were his possessions, which he offered to the unworthy slave. Instead of ordering to keep him in some kind of cell, he offered a smile and stroked his head. It was completely confusing and made no sense. What could that mean?… Maybe he was becoming too complacent? Maybe all that was only a trap set to be sprung on him later? Most probably. Legolas stiffened on the cold stones. What he was seeing could be only a pretty mask for strangers. He could not know what Elrond's true motives were. He could not imagine what he did to the slaves so they were afraid even to show their fright. No, he had to watch out, both his actions and his tongue – and maybe his thoughts as well.

Legolas sighed wearily. If he had a brief idea of escaping, his battered body rejected it immediately. He would not run far if he did at all. And that Elf, the head of household, told the girl to give him something to eat and prepare a bed. A bed… the picture made him realize exactly how fatigued he is. Wherever that bed would be and however it would look like, Legolas was past exhausted to care.

He dressed in the clothes he had been given. Buttoning the new tunic all the way up to his neck and sliding his hands down the luxurious fabric, the Elf sighed sadly. The Old Legolas had been cleansed, dressed and changed. He shed the robe of dirt and blood to be clad in a soft, silken one. That was, somehow, a comforting thought; yet Legolas was too tired to react anymore.

Tired and spent, he seated himself on a stool and took the brush he received. It was a simple, wooden brush, but for him it was a object of unthinkable luxury. He had never had a brush in his hand. His hair had never been braided before. If anything, it was only straightened with a rough comb carved from a piece of wood on a lonely night and gathered on his nape, for that way it wasn't disturbing during work. His long hair was a matted curtain made of knots, reaching more or less to half of his back. Fruitlessly he tried to comb the knots out and make them look presentable, similar in shape to those he had seen walking through the corridors of this palace. His hair would simply not cooperate. He abandoned the hurtful effort soon, just securing them behind with a leather thong and resigned he left the baths to wait outside for the Elf maiden to return, as she promised.

Neremiel came back to collect him soon and her soft steps quickened when she saw he was already waiting for her. She was talking merrily and sending him warm smiles all the time. Her cheerful behavior surprised Legolas and only heightened his confusion, but soothed his earlier failure with his hair.

"You must be very tired. I will show you to the sleeping area now. I brought some food there as well, so that you can have a meal, for I trust you have come too late to attend the midday meal, and the dinner is yet a few hours ahead. I shall not wake you, though, sleep well. If you wake up by yourself and feel like eating something, just come to the kitchens, Belithravien will be there for certain. Do you remember the way?"

"Yes, I think so… I beg your pardon, but I forgot your…" he started, but she laughed merrily, never letting him end the sentence.

"My name is Neremiel," she said, as always smiling kindly.

"Thank you, Neremiel. I can remember that."

"Do you need any help or maybe you have questions?" she asked, taking a turn to the left stairs. She stroked his shoulder in a soothing manner, glancing up at him.

"No, thank you... I'm just... disorientated," Legolas replied. He had millions of questions, but for now he could not form even one in a coherent sentence. As the girl confirmed he will be given leave to sleep now, he almost could not keep his eyes open anymore.

"Confusion is natural, Legolas," she began cautiously. "Don't be afraid. Lord Elrond is a very good Elf and Lord. He is old, wise and knows many things. He knows that you will feel like a stranger here. But he was kind to you, was he not?" the girl asked, taking hold of his elbow again, noticing his slow tempo.

"Yes, he was," Legolas replied. He listened to her words intently, trying to figure out an opinion. Finally one question seemed to make enough sense. "Neremiel, tell me… is Master Elrond high-tempered?"

"Erm… what do you mean by that?" Neremiel asked.

"I mean, does he beat you often? Is he quick in anger? Are his punishments severe?" Legolas explained as best as he could. Neremiel looked a little taken aback and she let go of his elbow, stopping.

"I have never heard about Lord Elrond using any violence or punishing somebody," she said slowly, but with fierce certainty. "He never beats anyone. Maybe he spanked the twins once or twice, but they surely deserved that; you would not find worse pranksters in whole Imladris. But _Nanneth_ always says he is a good and patient father." Neremiel smiled.

Legolas could not believe his ears. Never to hit anyone, beside the twins…? What twins he did not know, but that wasn't important. To never mete out a punishment to a slave? No, that couldn't be true. Neremiel didn't look like a person scared to death who could hide the terrible truth about a wicked Master, she was… at ease. But that had to be a lie. It simply had to.

"I suppose you are unused to that," Neremiel said suddenly, extending a hand and pointing the blue bruise on his face. "Did they beat you often?"

"Normally," Legolas shrugged. She gave him a terrified look, yet resigned from further inquiry.

"Come. You must be sleepy." She patted his elbow and went further; Legolas smiled weakly at her and allowed her to lead him.

/*/

Elrond was standing in the balcony, gazing at the wide valley bathed in golden rays of sunlight. Warm, but no longer hot, Anor was lazily preparing to sleep, clad in all hues of deep orange; it painted the tree tops red, so they seemed like on fire. Shimmering veils of yellow and pink clouds were sent down to earth, messengers of time, telling all living beings that soon the soft darkness of the summer sky shall appear, allowing the creatures of Ilúvatar some well deserved rest. Enjoying the last touches of light upon his skin and fascinated with the sky, Elrond stayed on the balcony, leaning on the balustrade and watching his land with a protective, paternal gaze.

Glorfindel was lounging in Elrond's own armchair and sipping lazily from the glass of wine, staring at the horizon as well. He also watched with some amusement as his Lord shifted his weight from one leg to the other without speaking for a long, long while. He was surely thinking about something, his musings preoccupying his mind and stealing all the perception. But Elrond did not make a move nor a sound indicating that he wanted to share his thoughts, so nothing disturbed the convenient, friendly silence between the two and fragile serenity of the sunset.

Glorfindel sighed discreetly, glancing at the fine crystal in his hand and assessing the purest color of the wine in full light. One quick look at Elrond – the Elf was facing him now, worrying his lower lip, sliding his hands on a forged iron balustrade of the terrace in a gesture so smooth and gentle that it looked like a caress. His gaze was now fixed on the plain white stone floor. Returning to contemplating his drink, Glorfindel hid his smirk. He gave his friend two minutes.

Soon Elrond abandoned the railing and started to pace like a great cat in a cage, seemingly too deep in thought to notice what he was doing. Glorfindel broke before said two minutes ended. Curiosity consumed him.

"What is bothering you so much?" the Seneschal asked suddenly, wondering whether he could elicit a flinch from Elrond or not, but the Lord was far above that. He stopped his pacing and went into the chamber, reaching for his own wine.

"The letters from King Lathronios," he said slowly, still not looking at Glorfindel.

"I saw them. Jovial and unimportant, as always when he writes them himself. What did he write that upsets you so?" Glorfindel wanted to know.

"Oh, it is not about Mirkwood," Elrond furrowed his brow. "If we are to believe him, matters are better now in his kingdom and people are not suffering from hunger anymore. Somehow, I can hardly believe it, when the letter was spiky with pleasantries to such extent. His aim is to ask for further help."

"He is easy to look through. His father had more class than that." Glorfindel shot his friend an eye of scrutiny. "You of course intend to give him a hand, when he asks again? Don't you think it would be unwise? Our granaries are full, but they won't stay so for long if we continue to help Elven kingdoms. Excesses would wear away, and eventually so will your reputation. Lathronios is not a person of virtue. Imladris needs limitless trust to her Lord, it will become damaged should you continue to send them supplies and receive nothing back."

"Was he asking for the help of other kind, like army or gold, I would gladly refuse. But if I don't send the food, who do you think who would suffer? I cannot imagine Lathronios sacrificing his own table."

"The farmers will have enough…"

"If he won't snaffle up their grain claiming he needs to ascertain the survival of battle horses. Besides, farmers are only a part of Mirkwood's population. And who would be the first to deny provisions? The household, for example. The poorest, for they cannot resist. Townspeople. All of the slaves."

"Here we are… it's the boy that upsets you so." Glorfindel sat down normally and put his wine on a table. His intense, green gaze searched for Elrond's eyes above the connected tips of his fingers in front of his face.

Elrond didn't avoid his eyes this time.

"Yes, it is the boy that upsets me. Lathronios sends me a contingent who carries the letter. In his royal name he thanks me for help and wants me to know the size of improvement. But then he writes an ordinary equivocal line about the Elf we saw today morning." Elrond bridled up. "He sends me a slave in thanks. A slave, for Elbereth's sake! What is he thinking? How can I accept such a gift? This child is a person, not a thing that can be given to someone. Was he trying to offend me, do you think?"

"Offend you…?" Glorfindel hesitated. "If he really is that consumed by evil, he surely thought you would be glad to be given a plaything to use at your leisure. If not, he might have tried to provoke you. But then, what would be the purpose of offending you…? He needs you."

Elrond sighed heavily, drying his goblet.

"How can I change this?" Elrond asked, more himself than Glorfindel. The Seneschal raked a hand through his hair and stretched on the armchair again.

"Personally, I think you should keep the boy. He needs someone to take care of him and you can more than provide that. Free him and make sure he understands that he is free, but wait until the Mirkwood contingent leaves," the blond told him.

"I asked about the situation, not about the boy. I mean to take the elfling under my protection, he is in my keep now, it's obvious. Don't tell me the easy things, that I can figure out." Elrond snapped and leaned again, on his desk this time.

Glorfindel stood up, his smirk gone and his wine forgotten. He came closer to his Lord and led him out on the balcony, pointing the golden valley, which now looked like poured over with honey, small houses and roofs as if made of ginger cake and sweets, the river one golden stream of mead.

"You do what you can to help those you can, Elrond," Glorfindel told him with unexpected seriousness. "You can do nothing about slavery in Mirkwood. If you censor King Lathronios, you will only infuriate him more and cause suffering to innocents. You know his ego cannot bear criticism. The important thing is that slavery never happens here." He indicated the golden evening before them again.

Elrond looked at those wonders he has created long ago and stood on their guard hence. But he shook his head almost despite himself, deep in his heart depressed. Glorfindel laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You are not a bad ruler because you cannot solve all problems," he said. "You just feel bad because helping others like this elfling is out of your reach and that makes you feel helpless."

"Thank you," Elrond said as he sighed and looked at his friend, watching as the usual smirk returned to Glorfindel's lips.

"So, who is he?" the blond asked Elrond.

"He says his name is Legolas," Elrond told him. "Son of no one."

"Pretty," Glorfindel continued. "Very nice lines."

"He is beaten, underfed and scared," Elrond said as he thought about his meeting with the elfling. "He won't look others in the eyes."

"And his talent?" Glorfindel asked, returning to watching the sunset. Strange silence again made him glance back at his liege.

"I'm not entirely sure." Elrond said slowly.

"Explain," Glorfindel said with cautiousness, afraid of his own suspicions. Elrond's grimace confirmed them.

"Oh come on. You were there. You heard those comments. You saw the letter. You have heard rumors about terrible things which are happening in Mirkwood. You have to suspect something, same as me." Elrond lowered his tone a little.

Glorfindel stared at the sky up above.

"You were given a slave." He said. "But what kind of a slave?..."

"Exactly."

The two Lords fell silent for a while. Finally Glorfindel shifted uncomfortably.

"Would Lathronios risk something like that? If the rumors about the terror, murders, tortures and prostitution are true, would he risk revealing the truth to you? Why did he send the boy here? I don't believe he wanted to show gratitude, it's not his style. Even if so, his idea is sick, as we agreed. Offence would be no gain."

"I don't know what to think about it. It is a marshy ground we are moving on. I think he had a purpose in sending the Elf here… He wanted to get rid of him." Elrond said, straightening.

"Why? Was he troublesome? A criminal?" Glorfindel suggested. Elrond grimaced.

"Recall him. That pitiful creature does not fit my scheme of a criminal."

"He looks rather like someone with an incurable and infectious disease sent here to decimate Imladris' population." Glorfindel muttered.

"Please, my friend. You are fantasizing." Elrond smiled lightly at the try to light the tension somehow.

"Why, we could become heroes again. You finding the cure, me killing the evil King." Glorfindel joked, happy to hear Elrond's amused snort. "We could become legend, my friend!"

"I see that one legend is enough for that weak head of yours," Elrond said, shaking his head. He stepped back into his room, waited for his friend to join him and closed the wooden balcony door.

"What about the boy?" Glorfindel sobered again.

"We need to find out his real purpose here," Elrond said, pouring himself a little more wine. "Maybe it's wise to talk with Gwaithtir. He was the one who stopped the contingent near the border, then sent further with an escort to the Palace. Maybe he had seen or heard something."

Glorfindel stared at the depths of his wine, trying to hide the impish gleam in his eyes and losing. Elrond squared his shoulders. And cleared his throat, the power of his status demanding to hear explanations in an instant.

"Gwaithtir shall be here in a minute, my liege." Glorfindel said with a small bow. Elrond responded with the same.

"As always a step further than I am, my Seneschal. I wonder how do you do it."

"I'm just being myself." Glorfindel turned around with grace, put the empty goblet on a silver tray and wandered to Elrond's private library, searching through the tomes casually, only to pick one book and return to the armchair.

"The Common Library is as always open, my friend. Why do you always chose something from my private bookshelf?" Elrond asked, feigning annoyance.

"Because the Library is few stories lower," Glorfindel said simply. "It's too far. Being always one step before you is tiring, you know."

Elrond smiled, looking at his oldest friend, and let him read in peace. His grey eyes slid over the room, calm and appreciative, assessing the perfect stillness and order of his chambers. It was his very own environment, most private part of whole valley, which was his home. He let only few in here, to assure safety and peace, but his rooms would be a boring place without Glorfindel. He was older than Lord of Imladris, yet always showed an attitude of someone very, very young. Many a time Elrond wondered at the source of this behavior. He supposed that being returned to life changed Glorfindel of Gondolin enough to be concerned with the living itself more than anything else. He loved laughter, good wine, dance and music, devoured books and discussed newest inventions with the talented Elves of Elrond's court. He preferred to be among the living as much as possible, so he used to spend the evenings in Elrond's chambers. The councils bored him, even if he was well informed and could easily maneuver in the world of politics. He would prefer to spend this time differently: actively, riding somewhere, training, or flirting with the maidens.

Elrond sighed. Glorfindel was his best friend, ever. He smiled softly, keeping his face securely turned towards the window so that the golden Elf didn't notice.

Exactly in that moment a sudden bang made Elrond jump: Glorfindel put the book none too gently on the table. He sat with his legs stretched and hands crossed on his chest, staring at his liege with inscrutable look on his face. He looked a bit like a teenager at the moment, disappointed with his lecture. Elrond raised his brows in question.

"It was boring," his Seneschal explained. "You read terribly boring books, my friend. I should lend you some of mine."

Elrond never managed to answer, for the soft knock in the door interrupted his thoughts. It was Erestor. As he came in, he ushered Gwaithtir to the room; the guard saluted and joined his heels in a military manner.

"It's good to see you, Erestor, Gwaithtir," Elrond spoke. "Please sit down, I have a need to speak with you."

They sat on the long couch near the wall. Elrond took the armchair on the left, while Glorfindel straightened and focused, turning to the guests and his Lord with full, unblemished attention.

"It's about Legolas, this boy I was given as a gift," Elrond started. "Gwaithtir, you saw him first, and around the contingent of Elves from his homeland, who surely felt more at ease out of my sight. Erestor, you spent some time with him as well. Both of you may advise me wisely as for his stay here. I want to hear your opinions. I shall not hide that this child's condition was quite a shock to me."

Gwaithtir moved restlessly. "I saw him this morning, my Lord. He was led by a companion, tall, brown haired Elf, probably a slave same as he. What you saw, my Lord, is not the whole truth, for he was in worse shape than that. All covered in dirt and dried blood, his clothes in rags. I gave him something of mine and talked the Elves from the contingent to allow the two clean themselves. I had not medicines which I could give them, however, but I was told he was not badly injured; only exhausted. He seemed a little… out of his mind to me. Unresponsive, staring at one point in front of him, sitting with his knees pressed to his chest. He never allowed me to touch him. He was too scared, I think."

"He was bloodied?" Elrond asked.

"I saw much dry blood on his clothes and on his flesh, but no fresh injuries. No bleedings, no broken bones, only… I think he was beaten much. He had bruises all over his hands, legs. Back. Marks on his neck. He was limping, if I recall correctly. That second Elf mentioned something about a stay in the dungeons. He wished his friend would see a healer, but told me no more. He was afraid too. Well, he had good reasons," Gwaithtir said gravely. "When they were dismounting, one of the Mirkwood warriors backhanded that blond child. He fell on the ground from the horse."

"The bruise on his face," Erestor sighed. "Now I understand. It looks morbid."

"I see…" Elrond murmured. "Erestor, I told him to find you this afternoon. Someone has led him to you, right?"

"Yes, Neremiel. He was frightened, with his eyes fixed on his shoes. I ordered him to take a bath, eat something and find some rest. Neremiel has led him to the common sleeping area, I think. He hasn't showed since; maybe he's just sleeping, he looked really drained… I hope he ate, at least," Erestor said, recalling the pitiful creature.

Elrond said nothing for a good while. His brow furrowed.

"I will need to see him. Erestor, where did you lodge him? Maybe he is awake by now. I'm afraid the extent of his injuries is greater than we supposed."

Erestor nodded. "He's in the common sleeping area, with the soldiers and servants staying on the night shift."

Elrond sighed. He shot Glorfindel a glance, then turned directly to Erestor. "I intend to keep the boy, my friend. Will you find him some work to do in the household?"

Erestor's eyes turned round.

"You will keep him? You will have him work with the household? It's a bad idea, Elrond."

"I shall free him from serfdom soon enough. But I need to take care of his health first to see to his mental state." His look rested on Gwaithtir for a moment, and the chief guard bent his head slightly, acknowledging the unspoken praise. "We know nothing of him, who is he, where he comes from, whether he has a family and where, why he has been sent here. This child must stay here, at least for some time; first – the contingent must leave and believe the gift was accepted not to alarm King Lathronios; second – this child needs protection and care. I am not leaving him alone."

"Surely he has family somewhere. Let them take care of him, it's a much better solution. What will you say to your council noblemen? You have seen how displeased they were. Besides, this Elf will not come to himself here. He needs someone trusted, someone who's sure not to hurt him, family, Elrond. Free him and let him rejoice the reunion." Erestor advised. "Finding him a work in the household will only ascertain him you are keeping him as a slave."

"We don't know if he has any family." Glorfindel's voice was grim. "We don't know if he has any idea of freedom. He could be kidnapped as a child, or be born in Mirkwood. He could have forgotten all he knew about normal life. In that case we will be his family from now on. And this will be hard to find out his place in this huge palace without an everyday routine he can stick to, without an environment he can make new friends in. He needs normality, so that he can learn he won't be abused anymore."

Erestor worried his lower lip, pondering Glorfindel's words. Finally he spoke. "I shall think where to put him. The boys in the stables could use a hand, but then… he is too fragile to that kind of work. His condition won't allow him to work that hard. Maybe when he gains some weight and rests properly… as for now he can help in the kitchens, there is always something to do."

"Very well," Elrond said. "Agreed. Thank you, Gwaithtir, for your detailed observations. They were precious. Now, you have just come from your watch, haven't you?" Elrond asked.

"Yes, my Lord. I came straight to you."

"So you can accompany us downstairs to the sleeping area, so that you can have your rest as well. If the Elf is sleeping, we won't wake him, but if he's not, I need to confirm the extent of abuse." Elrond said and rose. Erestor quickly gathered the plates and cups on the tray and took it with him, as the silent procession of Elves left the warm chambers.

The sun had set. The last sparkle of living light died at the border of the horizon to the unknown ways of journeying in the rule of night.

/*/

The dark room was not totally deserted at this time, for a few guards came here already, some settling for sleep, some enjoying a quiet talk in the faint light of the candle. The window was opened, the air playing with the flame; as the heat was finally gone, refreshing breeze was everything a tired Elf could use at the moment, in a warm night rich in chirping of grasshoppers.

Elrond's candelabra gave warm, but dim light. It was a good thing, for it didn't startle the sleeping form on the third bed counting from the door. Legolas was curled tightly in a foetal position and enfolded in a blanket, his thin back pressed to the wall, his face turned to the door. One of his hands was resting on his head, so that in case of being awoken by a hit, he wouldn't risk a concussion. His eyes were closed and his cheeks tearstained. It seemed like he had cried himself to sleep. And obviously, he was shivering; it was a small tremble, yet a tremble it was. It was becoming worse with every new wave of air coming from the window.

An empty plate was standing on the small stool near his bed, which prompted that he did eat something. His clothes were folded neatly and resting in the far corner of the bed, along with the borrowed ones. He had left everything in perfect order before he dared to rest. It had been a few hours ago, and yet he probably hasn't woken since. He must have been really exhausted.

"What's wrong…?" Gwaithtir asked. "Why is he trembling? Does he have a fever?"

Elrond bent over the bed and delicately touched one palm visible from under the covers.

"Elrond, if he wakes, he will panic," Glorfindel whispered. The healer knew that, but had a distinct feeling that Legolas would not have woken even at lifting him up. Dark circles under his eyes and unusual paleness of his face contrasted ugly.

"He is cold as ice," Elrond observed with shock. Erestor frowned; Gwaithtir came closer and squatted near the bedpost to have a better view.

"Elves do not feel cold," he stated the obvious, rocking on his heels nervously and seeking solution in his Lord's eyes. "Besides, it is the middle of summer, he cannot be cold. So what does that mean, my Lord?"

Elrond hesitated, uncertain what to do now. Feeling cold was something to be alarmed of. That meant only serious illness or grief which could even resolve in death. Seemingly Legolas' defenses were so damaged that he could no longer keep warmth in his body and help to fight off possible infections. That was really bad, for infections was something he could be in danger of. He was surely wounded, only it remained unknown to what extent. The shivering spoke volumes of his mental state also. Feeling cold meant surrender and resignation, grief too big to handle.

In short words, this Elf could be dying.

"My Lord?" Erestor interrupted the continuing silence.

"Bring me a thicker blanket, please," Elrond whispered, then put a hand to the pale forehead, feeling unmistakable beginnings of fever, which would torment the Elf long to the dawn hours unless he did something about it. Discretely taking off the ring from his left hand and putting it on his right hand forefinger, he closed his palm into a fist. Vilya felt cold and heavy. Elrond concentrated and banned the fever out of the prone body lying before him; it would suffice until the next morning. Then he would have to see Legolas and examine him thoroughly.

Erestor reappeared shortly. The blanket he brought was made of thick wool and was generously, thickly woven. It should keep the elfling warm, if really the cold was the source of trembling. Elrond covered the skinny child, praying that he wouldn't wake.

He didn't, to his dark satisfaction, nor to the covering, nor to any touches. How exhausted must he be, Elrond wondered, observing with small relief as the shiver died, some warmth creeping into the stiffened limbs, the fever evaporating.

"Erestor, see to him next morning. Maybe it is just exhaustion, maybe it's the journey, lack of food and brutal treatment. Observe him in the morning and as soon as the session ends in the council hall, bring him to my chambers, I must examine him. Now let's let him sleep. He must… he must rest." Elrond stood up slowly, still staring at the figure curled next to the wall.

"I shall stay," Gwaithtir whispered. "I shall take a bed next to him, so that I hear whatever happens. I will be watching over him."

Mute thanks in Elrond's eyes and a nod ascertained the guard that the poor Elf laying in the bed before them really needs to be watched this night.


	3. A healer

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: Drug abuse. Healing themes.

Please, please review some of this. Pretty please?

Chapter 3: A HEALER

/*/

"Wake up" said Neremiel, shaking Legolas gently. "Wake up, sleepyhead!"

Legolas awoke with a jerk, opened his eyes wide and pulled back from the touch instinctively. He was staring at Neremiel with fear.

"Oh... sorry... I didn't mean to..." the girl hesitated, taking the hand away. She stared at the Elf curled on the bed, clearly worried. She wanted badly to kneel near him and caress his cheek to soothe all his stress away, yet from the look of his face she knew she shouldn't.

"It was only a bad dream. I am sorry, Neremiel" Legolas finally replied, as he calmed down a little and shook his head to wake up more. Neremiel only smiled pleasantly and settled for a friendly pat on his hand.

"Don't worry, I am not offended," she told him. "You need to get up now. I am sorry to wake you, as I see that you are still weary, but in half an hour you need to be before Erestor. I think that will be wise, since… well, that's your first day here… he has much to explain, for sure. And maybe he will assign you some tasks for the day." Neremiel said and smiled politely, yet no answer came.

"Are you sure you're fine?" the girl asked, when Legolas neither responded nor made further move to get up.

"Yes," he said only, nodding. He took few deeper breaths and slowly attempted to get up, praying that she left.

"Breakfast is being served already." She told him, walking away hesitantly, still observing him with some suspicion. "Come, there will be something waiting for you."

"Thank you, Neremiel," Legolas nodded and forced himself to smile. Finally she left and closed the door behind her.

Legolas fell back on the bed. The morning pain in his body was becoming worse with every passing day, the dizziness would not go away and the dull headache in the base of his skull was driving him mad. He could barely move under the force of that pain. Even breathing was difficult, as his ribs would not let him get enough air to calm his system.

With shaking hands he reached for the robe he was given yesterday and fumbled for a paper-wrapped sachet with dried leaves, which had been given to him by Moreth, along with strict terms of usage. Legolas knew better than resisting or forgetting these orders. After this mysterious medicine all the pain would fade away, leaving only unpleasant throbbing, breathing would become somewhat easier, headache would disappear and a fever, if he had it, would subside. Now he took one leaf and chewed it hungrily, closing his eyes, trying to calm down the heart hammering in his chest and riding the pain, forcing himself to endure, as he used to do every morning. Slowly, as the sour taste of the leaf filled his mouth, all the symptoms slowly started to evaporate. It became better with time, good enough for Legolas to open his eyes without frowning at the sunlight, then good enough to breathe, then to sit down. Finally Legolas got up and stretched lightly.

It surprised him that he had slept so long. Almost whole previous day, whole night and… which hour was it…? He glanced through the window at the bright sky, searching for the sun. It was almost eight a.m.

Eight? How was it possible that he was allowed to sleep that long? Wasn't he supposed to get up at dawn? Legolas in panic started to dress, grabbing the tunic shakily. Doing that, he quickly inspected his new clothes. Stained, as he supposed, with small crimson dots on his shoulders and back, but difficult to spot. Trying to think reasonably, he inspected the sheets as well, but calmed a little seeing no further blood stains. He folded the covers neatly, placing them on the edge of the bed. What surprised him was a light green woolen blanket that was not here when he went to bed. Or maybe he was too exhausted to notice? His memory played tricks on him in the past and was still doing it occasionally, so Legolas concluded it must have been one of such situations.

How could I have slept so long, he kept asking himself. And in the first day, when he wanted so badly to make a good impression. Cursing his own incompetence and laziness he tried to find the way to the kitchens, reminiscing about yesterday. He wanted to see Moreth, but had not had a chance so far. Last afternoon Legolas ate what he was given in a hurry, afraid that the food could be taken away from him, and almost immediately fell asleep not to wake up even once until now, so exhausted he was. In a real bed. He had never before slept in a bed – now, amazed at this gift and frozen with fear from guilt that he had overslept and disappointed his Master's inferiors, Legolas braced himself for whatever fate should become of this. He only wanted to see Moreth one last time.

/*/

In the kitchens Elven maidens were bustling around and carrying big trays of food into the main hall which was connected to the kitchens with a convenient corridor. Legolas quickly spotted Neremiel. She was slicing tomatoes and arranging them on small plates before her.

"I'm ready", he announced quietly, coming closer to her. She gave him a quick, yet thorough glance, and when she found nothing abnormal in his composure, she smiled and nodded.

"That's good. How was your sleep this night?" she asked, quickly finishing her task and drying her hands in her apron. She grabbed his elbow and led him to the nearest table, then seated on a stool and laid before him the biggest breakfast Legolas had ever seen. For a full minute he did not know what to say, only stared at the offered food.

"Legolas?" Neremiel urged him gently to answer. "Did you sleep well?"

He looked up at her and nodded, but returned to staring at the plate. That was beyond his understanding. The girl sat near him and placed an intrigued look straight in his eyes.

"Neremiel, why so much of it…?" he asked finally. "I ate yesterday, and that was much as well. You cannot give me so much, I know what problem it is, and…"

"Legolas, take a look around." Neremiel interrupted him. The Elf did as he was told, and to his amazement he saw that the Elves sitting along the wooden tables were eating breakfast among laughter and merry talks, their portions were even bigger than his, and they did not hesitate to take a second helping of whatever was presented on the huge plates. In his eyes it looked like a real feast, even if that was just an everyday meal.

"See?" Neremiel smiled. "There is nothing exceptional in your plate." She rose and seeing that he was still not eating, she patted his arm. "Eat, Legolas. It is really tasty."

"You all… eat like that?..." he whispered in awe. Neremiel sighed and squirmed uncomfortably, not knowing what to say. Really flummoxed, she just confirmed, smiled at him sadly and left him to eat in peace.

Legolas eyed his plate suspiciously. There was freshly baked bread, butter, jam, white cheese and fruits along with a glass of warm, sweetened tea with lemon. It was too much for him to eat it all, but he started to dig in without further hesitation. He was hungry and weak, still hurting a bit, and it was a very important day. He couldn't do anything stupid. He had to make a good impression. He had to prove his new Masters that he could be useful; in more ways than one.

/*/

Near the gates the Mirkwood party was preparing to leave. The guards were saddling their combed and fed horses. They had rested in a warm and comfortable stall the previous day and the whole night, so they were ready to undertake another journey.

Having checked for the last time all the packages, as was his duty to do, Moreth counted all the bags and decided it was all in order. He had been left alone near the horses, so he had a little time for himself. At least for now.

Sighing, he sat heavily on the short stone fence around one of the flowerbeds, waiting for the Mirkwood guards to return. It was the time to leave this bright valley for home. They came here in a number of eleven. They will be back in only ten.

Legolas was staying here. His one and only true friend through so many years was forced to stay away, and though his heart bled, Moreth was glad. He took a closer look at this place yesterday evening. After they had been lodged in their rooms, he sharing one with three of the guards, he had been forgotten and left alone to seek, wander and find information. He knew what he was risking, yet the fear of the punishment was smaller than the fear for his friend. He knew Legolas would be treated better here, among those civilized Elves who didn't accept slavery, as he had heard. He remembered from his short childhood that Lothorien also hadn't adhered to slavery. About this land he was uncertain, however. He had heard stories and wanted to know if the rumors were true, so he asked the Elves living here many questions and he finally made himself certain that it was a peaceful land which will offer his friend protection. Salvation even.

Events of the last two weeks were still alive in Moreth's memory. He didn't understand half of them, he couldn't accept even one, but all he knew now and all that counted was that he had safely brought Legolas to Imladris. Here they would help him. They would, sooner or later, discover his remaining injuries, if he had any to that time, which hadn't healed by themselves. That drug was really working. But the state of his mind was heartbreaking; and one day Legolas would not be able to hide the truth any longer. They would know his story, they would know about his imprisonment and solitude, and the greatest harm which could happen to an immortal being, for he would not be able to lie and don't slip on these lies eventually. Moreth sighed. Legolas was stubborn and full of distrust, he would not tell anyone or ask for help. But he would have to. Well, if it had to be done the hard way, then so be it. Here he had a chance to live happier, to start anew. Moreth told him to do that for him and to use that opportunity.

And I have helped his luck as much as I could, no matter how severe the consequences could have been, Moreth thought, getting up. Patting friendly the brown horse on his left, he muttered soft endearments and calming words to the animal.

From a corner of his eye he saw a figure in rich royal robes briskly crossing the sun-filled patio and through the gate, obviously heading in his direction. Startled, Moreth recognized the Elf as the Lord of Imladris himself. He left the horse and knelt on the ground, bowing his head in greeting. What was the noble doing at the courtyard at this hour, he would never know, but he was obliged to show his respect. To Moreth's amazement, Elrond didn't pass him without noticing; he came close and stood right in front of him.

"Good day to you," the High Elf greeted Moreth conversationally. "Please stand, do not kneel before me. What is your name? I remember you from the council hall," Elrond asked kindly.

"My name is Moreth, I am a friend of the slave that has been given to you, my Lord," Moreth answered, bowing his head. Fear mingled with thankfulness and anticipation of the fact the Lord spoke to him. That way he could maybe… ask for taking care of his friend…

"You do not have to bow before me all the time. Don't be scared." Elrond soothed and Moreth lifted his head immediately, wearing a determined expression.

"I am not scared of you, my Lord." He said, sounding almost brave. Elrond gave him a favorable smile.

"That is well, for I have a few questions I don't want you to repeat to anyone. We are alone here for a while, you are safe, no one will know. The guards are being kept preoccupied elsewhere. Will you tell me something?" Moreth nodded quickly. Elrond couldn't help a sad smile, knowing very well from the sudden paleness of the slave's face that this conversation certainly _could_ bring him trouble, proven to him or not.

"You say you are his friend. Then you must know what is happening. Why was I given a slave?" came the slow, worried question. Moreth gave his answer quickly - words slipped from him unchecked, before he started to think - Lord Elrond was the only one he could trust, the one he had to trust, for he could help Legolas.

"As a gift, repayment for Mirkwood's debt, my Lord, the King wanted to show gratitude. The King handed Legolas over for your pleasure and amusement, my Lord, and I know you will keep him for that purpose; this is exactly what the King wanted. He suspected that would break my friend. He is deeply hurt. It won't take long before his mind shatters," Moreth whispered. "If he will be given to the soldiers again, he doesn't stand a chance… Please, my Lord, he will serve you well, only he needs some time to rest and heal…"

"For Valar's sake, what have they done to him? Tell me everything!" Elrond's blood froze at these news. Moreth sighed shakily, nervous.

"He stayed in the dungeons for some time. I don't know much, he never told me what exactly happened, but it was both a punishment and a preparation for his servitude in your realm, my Lord. The soldiers liked to grind him down during the road. I did what I could to help… physically he is mostly alright now, only he has closed his mind from me, from anybody. I couldn't do more than make sure he survived the road. I gave him a drug to dull the pain, he is almost healed. At least he looks so. But I am no healer… I heard that you are, my Lord…"

"I will see to your friend, don't worry. He is under my protection now and he will be taken care of," Elrond assured. "But why him? Who is he? Someone important? A leader of a rebellion? Who is he that King Lathronios wanted to destroy him so badly?"

Moreth held Elrond's eyes locked in a helpless stare.

"I have known him all my life, he's an orphan. Nothing special. The King always liked to have him close, to check on him and punish often for his amusement. And publicly. That's why Legolas had only me, others were afraid to be near him. We learned to live with it. We took it as the King's favorite entertainment, simply."

"Simply," Elrond mocked. Moreth shrugged and hung his head low.

"And I have greetings for you, my Lord." He said quietly. "From the Elf I met in Mirkwood. He said you had once saved his life, my Lord, him and his fellows after a fight with orcs. I don't know his name, but he was quite tall, had long brown hair and sparkling green eyes," Moreth decided to describe him to Elrond. The Elf Lord seemed to remember.

"Lanewel? Is he…" but Elrond stopped suddenly, seeing Moreth's face.

"He is dead, my Lord. I watched him die. He was wounded by the poisoned blade. He told me to do everything I could to bring Legolas here. He said you never refuse to help anyone, my Lord. And he gave me the medicine."

Elrond nodded sadly.

Soon they heard the steps of approaching guards. The Elves from the Mirkwood delegation came to say their farewell and take Moreth with them, so Elrond quickly changed the topic and the attitude, asking what would be the best occupation for his newly received slave. Moreth said something about the horses and stables, but the guards snickered evilly and snorted, giving out an unpleasant laugh and few obscene gestures. One ice cold look was enough to silence them.

Moreth gave Elrond one more desperate glance, begging for help, when they were about to leave.

"Go, one more question and I'll send him to you," Elrond said with authority and the guards left, approaching the horses and leaving Moreth with Elrond once more.

"I can make you stay here if you want," he said to Moreth hurriedly, but the Elf shook his head no.

"I have family in Mirkwood. I want to come back. But I beg you, my Lord. Save my friend," Moreth said, knelt and walked away.

Elrond stared at the leaving group for a while, terrified, puzzled and even more angry at Lathronios than yesterday. Watching from afar he silently prayed to the Valar to save the brave friend of Legolas from all harm and uttered an especially nasty curse on the guards, if they had laid a finger on the blond, frightened child he was given. Their remarks were all too equivocal. Moreth's revelations gave him a broad picture of the cruelty the Elf had to endure. So that was the truth; the rumours were not exaggerated. He had to confirm this. Hell with Glorfindel and his reasonable advices not to push the youngling too far and don't ask him anything. He had to talk with the blond slave as soon as the council session ended.

/*/

Erestor glanced in a direction of the new member of the household. Legolas was preoccupied with the work and stayed close to Neremiel, the only one he knew so far. He didn't seem like making new friends. On the contrary - he looked lost and tired, even if desperate to work and prove useful. When he came and stood before Erestor today morning, Erestor suggested him a walk to the gardens or stables. It was his first day here, he could use this time to know his surroundings better and get familiar with his new home. Legolas obediently disappeared from his line of sight, heading to the gardens. Erestor found him later kneeling near one of the patches. There was a bucket full of weeds on his right; behind him all the tomato bushes were weeded and neatly watered, while Legolas was preparing to move the bucket to the left, to do the cucumbers. When he spotted Erestor, he immediately stood up and bowed low. Only when Erestor disappeared, he dared to come back to work again. It was such a shock to the chief advisor that he didn't say a word.

The weeding was ordered to be done in the following afternoon, when the sun would not be so vicious. The Elves assigned to that task had a happy surprise, seeing that their work had already been half done. Legolas had cleaned two of the biggest patches from the weeds himself, he hadn't even asked for a hoe. Finally Neremiel found him and mercifully took back inside, to give him something to drink at least, mothering over him and asking all the time if he had not got the shock from the heat.

Now Legolas was sitting near the Elf maiden, drying with a dishcloth the freshly washed crockery she was handing him. The work was going rather quickly. Neremiel was trying to drag the new Elf into a conversation, but he had trouble with answering, appeared unwilling and tense.

Erestor could see that the elfling was unwell. He trembled slightly, swayed on his feet whenever he rose and his hands were shaking. Erestor shook his head; it would be wise to put a halt to this and finally take him to Elrond. The council had ended half an hour ago and Elrond had probably managed to eat and rest a little after that meeting. Erestor wanted to give him some more time, but his Lord must have been impatient for the talk with Legolas already anyway. Decision made, Erestor headed towards the two.

As Legolas saw Erestor approaching, he actually panicked, much to Erestor's surprise. A plate he was drying slipped from his hands and shattered into pieces on the stone floor. Legolas gasped in surprise and fell on his knees before Erestor, both to pick up the broken pieces and to apologize. He paled so much that he was white and shook like a leaf on the wind.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry, it won't happen again, I'm sorry…" Legolas exclaimed in fright, collecting the pieces and cutting the inside of his palm by the way. He was trembling all over, repeating his apologies, obviously frightened.

"Legolas, it was an accident, nothing serious," Erestor tried to soothe him and bent to pull the Elf up. Legolas cringed, covering his head with one hand, as if afraid of the blow to come; Erestor stopped suddenly, taken aback.

"I beg your forgiveness, Sir," Legolas whispered, slowly lowering his hand. "I am so really sorry… so sorry for my clumsiness," he sniffed. Erestor could not believe what he was seeing. Legolas started to cry.

"Calm down," Erestor said slowly, lifting both his hands for Legolas to see them. "And stop apologizing. Nothing happened. Stand up. I will help you, alright?" he bent once more and lifted the sobbing Elf up. Neremiel took the broken pieces from Legolas' hand and threw them away to the trash bin, whispering soothingly. She was no less terrified than Erestor was in this moment.

The Elf slowly placed Legolas's hand in his and assessed the state of the bleeding palm. Legolas still refused to stop crying.

"I am sorry, Sir," he was repeating, shaking his head in denial and looking only at the floor. "It won't happen again, I'm sorry… I really can do better, I am sorry…"

"Legolas, stop this. Nothing happened. And let me take care of this," Erestor muttered, brought Legolas' hand upon the washbasin and cleaned the small cuts with little water. He wrapped the hand in a clean cloth which Neremiel gave him and squeezed it tightly to stop the blood from flowing.

"Thank you, Sir… thank you so much… I… am r-really sorry, I apologize sincerely, I…"

"Legolas, I told you stop, it's alright!" Erestor frowned, looking at the elfling. His behavior was not only worrying, it was just unacceptable – the whole kitchens were now looking in their direction, staring at the crying elfling. Yet instead of coaxing Legolas to stop, with his harsh tone Erestor only scared the Elf further, and Legolas saw no other option than to apologize again. Erestor could feel the hand he was holding tremble and the form in front of him slowly cringing in itself, as far away from him as possible. Legolas sobbed anew, his eyes wide in fear.

"I really am sorry… I promise, that was the last time, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Oh, but stop immediately!" Erestor shouted, not knowing what else to do. In the second he raised his voice he knew it was a bad idea, for the reaction he elicited was horrible.

In the deadly silence which fell over the kitchens, Legolas covered his mouth by his hand. His eyes widened and glistened with a new wave of upcoming tears, which fell down his cheeks leaving wet trails on the small, thin face. He went down on his knees again and bowed his head low, crossing his wrists on his lap; Erestor wanted to grab him roughly and lift up immediately, but was stopped by silent words:

"I a-apologize once again, Sir, but I have n-no right… to beg for… your forgiveness. I am yours t-to punish as you wish, Sir."

Erestor was terrified and totally dumbfound. He did not know what to say. Neremiel silently put the plate she was holding on the table and only stared. The two had never, ever in their lives thought that somebody could behave like that and be absolutely frightened – of whom? Of good, old Erestor!

"I…" Erestor hesitated. "Legolas, I just… stand up, please" he sighed, and Legolas obeyed immediately, swallowing his tears. When Erestor reached to touch him, he flinched, afraid of the hit. Erestor understood he wouldn't handle the Elf alone. One look at the rest of the household was enough to prompt them that the show was over and they should come back to their obligations. Everyone complied without a moment of delay, settling for glancing over their shoulders.

"Neremiel," Erestor turned quietly to the nearby girl, "come with me. Lord Elrond wanted to see him, but… just… you better come with us," Erestor said, knowing that the girl would understand. If he just marched Legolas away, the poor creature would undoubtedly think he was being led to a punishment.

But even with that caution and gentle voice Legolas would faint if it wasn't for the lithe form of the Elven maiden who supported him at the news of his Master wishing to see him. Now, he would get what he aimed from the very beginning. The punishment for oversleeping, breaking the plate and angering Erestor was coming. Or maybe the Lord had found out his purpose here and wanted to play with him after the dinner…? Was his work unsatisfactory? Hadn't he proved himself good at working only? Of course he hadn't. He had broken the plate. Now he would be thrown out of here.

Neremiel dragged him with her through the corridors behind the quickly marching Erestor. Noiselessly whispering 'no' and shaking his head, in a state of utter shock, Legolas obediently moved his legs. He did not even know how and which way they walked to the Lord's chamber. Just walking behind Erestor in one moment he was in the kitchens, in the other he was standing before the solid, double doors made of dark, carved wood. Erestor ordered them to wait and disappeared behind them.

Neremiel was talking to him all the time in a soothing manner, yet her words did not reach him and sounded like coming from a deep, mossy well. He did not pay attention anyway. That was it. He was being thrown out of Imladris. And he had just believed that he would stay here! When he heard of the delegation leaving, he believed he wouldn't be returned. But no, that would be too much of luck, that simply couldn't be true… Now he would be simply dragged back to that dark forest. Or maybe he would have to catch up with the delegation alone? Or maybe they wouldn't bother at all and simply leave him somewhere in the woods for the wolves to finish?

Erestor reappeared and opened the door wider to let the two in. Neremiel said something to Legolas, but he never understood what was that. She pulled his hand, however, so he figured out that he was to follow her. She led him into the room and left him trembling in the middle, then both she and Erestor disappeared. The door closed with a quiet sound.

Silence.

Legolas could just stand, for he had no strength for anything else. His quiver only increased and cold sweat was pearling on his forehead; his heart raced.

"Legolas?"

That kind, calm voice again, the voice from the council hall. Lord Elrond was talking to him. Come on, idiot! Kneel, bow to him! Legolas scolded himself and immediately knelt, bowing so low then that he thought he would touch the floor with his forehead.

"Oh, Legolas." That voice again. "Stand up. There is no need…" yet the voice trailed off, hesitated, then fell silent. After a minute it repeated the call. Legolas did not react at the first one, nor at the one that followed, cleaving the carpet with his fingers.

Someone knelt near him. His whole system immediately braced itself for a hit and flinched away, but nothing happened; in his confuse and fear he couldn't understand what was going on or how he should react. Why was this powerful Lord kneeling?

He glanced up, but the figure made no further move. The Lord simply was near. He only changed his position to a sitting one, which prompted Legolas that he wanted to spend some more time here. But the Elf did not move or speak a thing still, just sitting nearby. Legolas could feel Elrond looking at him.

The tension was unbearable; he couldn't return the look, and he had no idea what was going on. He wasn't used to something like that. He expected yelling, or a beating, but not this silent presence. What was that?... Would the Lord sit near him like that, if he wanted to yell or beat him…?

Finally Elrond sighed quietly.

"Will you look at me?" the voice asked quietly. No order, no shout. A plea. Yet it took some time before Legolas raised his head a tiny bit and scowled at Elrond from the floor.

The Elf kneeling near him smiled. It was a sad smile, but not a wolfish grin either. Slowly, very slowly, so that Legolas could see it, a hand was extended and the kind, grey eyes asked for permission. The tremble increased, an inner alarm warned to flee, but Legolas was like petrified – he could not move a single limb. He even stopped breathing.

The hand slowly touched his head, long fingers entangled in a blond curtain of his knotted hair and caressed. The hand never delivered a blow. It only stroked steadily up and down his nape, and Legolas thought briefly that the Lord in front of him seemingly had no intention to beat him. If he had, he wouldn't waste precious time on sitting unmoving and stroking him. The touch was steady, very soft and almost comforting. Legolas allowed himself to glance up once again. Still the same calm, sad expression. After another while Legolas's shoulder muscles, tired of the strain, relaxed visibly and he hung his head low. He dared to sigh quietly, which sounded rather like a sob.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Elrond asked quietly. Legolas flinched from the hand on his head, recalling his earlier distress and fear. He raised his frightened eyes on Elrond, silently apologizing again; he knew that an answer was expected of him, but he discovered with shock that he couldn't say a thing. His eyes begged silently. Do not taunt me. Make it quick. If you want to punish me, do it now.

"Easy, elfling. Easy. You dropped a plate, is that correct?" Elrond asked. Legolas nodded, as he could not stammer a thing. Elrond nodded slowly in acknowledgment. "You were scared of Erestor's anger, weren't you?" another frantic nod and the youngling's head came down again.

Elrond sighed. The Elf was too scared to speak, but he wanted to communicate. Elrond decided to carry on with that gentle investigation, then soothe the creature in front of him to the level of ability to speak again. Instantly the Lord knew this could take him the whole evening, for it was like coming closer to a wild, haunted animal.

"And Erestor shouted at you, when you tried to apologize, then brought you here, to me. Right?" the Lord continued. Legolas nodded again, trembling hard as he suspected now the punishment would come.

Elrond fell silent for a while.

"I am not angry." Came the statement finally. "Neither is he."

It had a huge effect on the elfling before him. Legolas raised his eyes full of disbelief and placed his surprised look in Elrond's face. Elrond nodded.

"I'm not angry. You did not drop the plate on purpose, did you?" Legolas shook his head like mad, in a desperate attempt to make Elrond believe him. The Lord raised his hand to silence this mute protests. "So you see. That was an accident. How can I be angry, when that was just an accident? It was not your fault. It happened, but it's no big deal. We have many more plates here. One less will do no harm."

Legolas just stared. He couldn't understand. He has just damaged his Master's possessions. He expected a severe penalty for being so careless. And there this kindly smiling Elf was telling him that it was no big deal.

Elrond endured the glare, then laughed quietly. "Legolas. No punishment," he explained the shortest he could. Only then the elfling made a more oriented face, like he finally realized what he was being told. He thought about it for a while, and finally concluding that the Lord was not jesting, Legolas slowly bowed again, cringing in himself and frowning, trying to fight back the tears. He took his Lord's hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing it thankfully in a mute thank.

"Shush, elfling," Elrond whispered, reaching gently to touch the tense back and stroke delicately. "Shush. Do not be scared. No one is angry at you. No one is going to hurt you. We just don't know how to act," Elrond explained. Legolas glanced at him; Elrond realized that the Elf was listening more intently than he would assume, so he kept talking, doing his best to explain.

"Erestor behaved so strangely, because he did not know what else to do. He has no idea of slavery, he didn't even think that one can be punished for breaking a plate. That was not your fault, Erestor thought you knew that. Your panicked apology and cry made all the kitchens look at you, and Erestor may encounter some unpleasant comments about that he made you cry. He approached you to lead you to me, I wanted to see you. You was scared; but there is no need to be afraid. Shush now, don't cry. If there is something you don't know or understand, you need but to ask. I know it is difficult for you. I know," Elrond persuaded. The slave seemed to calm down systematically under these gentle ministrations; he quieted his sobbing and wiped the tears away with the backs of his hands. Only then Elrond noticed the strange angle of the middle finger in Legolas's left hand - it was probably broken - and the bloodied right palm.

"Calm now?" Elrond asked. Legolas nodded, smiling apologetically. The Lord returned the smile, resuming the stroking and taking Legolas's hand in his instead. Legolas sniffed one more definite time only to fell silent again.

"Will you speak to me now, Legolas?" Elrond asked quietly. The elfling dared a quick glance up and, after a longer while, spoke.

"I am sorry, Master." Legolas stammered. Elrond shook his head.

"I told you there is no need to be sorry. Not your fault. Maybe say something else," Elrond tried, praying for this to work.

"Thank you, Master," Legolas whispered, unable to think out a better answer for his Lord's demands.

"You are welcome, but I mean something else. That topic is ended, we won't return to it anymore," Elrond said and smiled at the elfling. "For example, tell me how are you feeling in your new home. I understand that this first day was difficult for you," he started conversationally. Legolas nodded.

"I feel fine, Master." He said with certainty. "It's good here."

Elrond waited for something more, but no more information came.

"Why?" he asked finally. Legolas thought for a while, uncertain what to say.

"No one beats me," he said finally. "I was given food, clothes, real bed. I could take a bath. E-everyone are kind."

"Do you like Imladris? It's quite different than deep forest of Mirkwood."

"I do," Legolas said. "I like the sun. The… the windows."

Elrond smiled sadly. Mirkwood was simply dark. Legolas must have missed sunlight very badly, for this was the very Elven spirit, to be close to nature and adore its miracles. Elrond wondered where Legolas had been kept in Mirkwood, but it must have been a grim place, when he was happy to be given a real bed.

"I talked with Gwaithtir, the Elf at the border of my land, whom you had met," Elrond said. "He told me you looked unwell. Your friend, Moreth, was also worried about you."

Legolas's eyes widened at the mentioning of his friend. He even dared to glance up for a moment.

"I am a healer, Legolas. I wanted to see you to check if you are alright. Now I can see you're not. What happened to your hand?" Elrond gestured at the broken finger.

Legolas bit his lips.

"I… tripped over… on the stairs." He said finally, not looking at his Master.

"And who pushed you down?" Elrond asked.

"Brellyr."

Elrond sighed sadly. "Did he also hit you in the face?"

Legolas shook his head. "This was Antelas."

Elrond couldn't withhold himself and once again laid a comforting hand on the elfling's back, rubbing in – what he hoped – was a soothing manner. Legolas tensed under his hand, so he abandoned the try.

"I think I can help these marks fade quicker," he said instead and stood up, gesturing at the elfling to do the same. He grasped his forearm, as both his hands were bearing injuries, and led him to the bigger room, the main one of his chambers, where he kept his medical store. He pointed the big, soft armchair. "You can sit here."

Cooperation ended as soon as he said that. Legolas stopped walking, placing his terrified stare at Elrond's face and resisting feebly. Elrond let go of his hand, unwilling to push the elfling too far too quickly. Legolas shook his head in denial.

"What's wrong?" Elrond asked. The elfling shook his head.

"Forbidden… I cannot sit… no…"

Elrond sighed. "I allow you. You can. Sit down."

Legolas sat, all fidgety, staring at Elrond disbelievingly. It was unheard of that a slave could sit down in his Master's presence.

Elrond smiled and walked to his medical desk, where he kept medicines, herbs, jars with ointments and liquids, and even dangerous poisons. That was a wonderful desk, made of dark wood, with carved legs and a similar chair attached to it. On the wall above there were many shelves, reaching almost to the ceiling, containing various ingredients of Elrond's potions.

Now Elrond picked up some bandage, one jar with a white ointment, two thin sticks to stiffen the broken finger, few small cloths made of gauze and a bottle with transparent liquid.

"Now, give me your right hand." Elrond told the Elf, reaching for the bottle and one cloth. He poured some of the smelly concoction on the white surface and gently assessed the cuts.

"Nothing serious, hopefully," he muttered and cleaned the wounds with the cloth. It smarted a little, but when Elrond wrapped the hand gently in bandage, it stopped. "Tomorrow morning you can take the bandage off, for the wounds will heal to that time. Not even a trace left," he smiled. The youngling shyly tested if he could clench his fist and whispered his thanks.

The other hand was a bigger problem. When Elrond touched the swollen finger, he already knew it was surely broken, for Legolas wrenched his hand out, yelping in surprise and cradling his left hand to his chest. Moving as far from Elrond as he possibly could, he did his best to melt into the armchair, pressing his knees to his chest. Elrond suspected a violent reaction and maintained calmness.

"Legolas, your finger is broken. I need to set it for you." he informed the creature. "Give me your hand. What I am planning to do will hurt, but it has to be done."

Legolas shook his head and closed his eyes; Elrond was sure if his hands were alright, he would cover his ears also. He was not in the best mental state. Afraid of any hurt from the hands of any other Elf, he would rather let his finger jut wrongly and damage his hand forever than let Elrond help him.

"Please, Legolas. You want to have a healthy hand like before, do you not?" A nod. "So let me help you. You will hurt yourself if you won't listen to me. I know better," Elrond said seriously. The elfling hesitated.

"Trust me, little one. Trust me."

Slowly the hand was extended. Elrond decided to act immediately, as he saw panic coming, and grabbed the hand delicately.

"I will do it quickly," he said and without any further warning set the finger in its place in one fluid movement. Legolas yelped, but the scream died in a weak sigh as he was shushed and reassured of Elrond's good intentions. The finger was stiffened and wrapped thickly in bandage.

"Now the bone will have a chance to grow properly and join together. It will take some time, but won't be hurting much. If you feel any discomfort about it, tell me and I'll try to remedy it. I will remove the bandages, when the time comes, alright? Don't do it yourself," Elrond advised and patted Legolas head. "You were very brave. Brave little elfling," he smiled, and Legolas relaxed a tiny bit, hearing the praise.

Elrond glanced at the hand once more and inspected it again, for he wanted to be sure he missed nothing. One thing interested him, however. Near the white bandage his own hand was glowing with a dim, delicate elvish glow. It was seen more easily on the white backcloth. But Legolas's aura was almost inexistent. Not even a hint of color.

That seriously worried Elrond, but he did not let himself show it. As for that moment he couldn't see any serious injuries and the Elf looked a bit better than a while ago, crying on the carpet. The awful comments that indicated sexual abuse kept ringing through Elrond's mind, however. He wondered how is he supposed to check he elfling over not to cause another fit of panic. How was he supposed to gently ask him to undress?

"I will take your pulse now, alright?" the Lord told Legolas and put two fingers on his neck to catch the heartbeat better. The poor heart raced still, unable to calm down the worried system. Legolas tried not to think about the Lord touching him and turned his face away in a reflex. Elrond frowned worriedly, his suspicion confirmed. He would have to try something else to check his injuries.

"Please, Legolas. I want to help you, I am a healer," Elrond coaxed. "I will not hurt you. Calm down, your heart is beating very fast. Take a few deep breaths," he said.

Legolas straightened in the armchair, closed his eyes and concentrated at breathing, for he took this advice as an order, simply. Gentle encouragements were much better than shouting, he concluded, trying to control his system as he had been told. This mighty Lord was seemingly very steady person, of small tendency to get angry. If he forgave him breaking the plate, he must really be a calm nature.

The hand holding his own was warm and soft, the touches – brief or very delicate. A healer, he said…? Moreth had mentioned something about a good Lord of this valley, but Legolas had never paid attention nor believed those stories. He hadn't even found enough strength to be thankful for the pitiful tries to lighten the horrible future and give him hope. These lies, even if beautiful, were only lies. They had hurt him more than any others.

But maybe, just maybe, Moreth had not been lying in everything he had told him? Maybe, only a little part of all he had been saying, was true? Legolas opened his eyes and saw that his Master was counting something steadily, looking at the carpet.

A healer. Maybe…? A Master healer would mean considerate punishments.

"I don't like your breathing," Elrond said finally. "It sounds strained. Do your ribs hurt?"

Legolas considered his options. If he said the truth, he would probably have to take his tunic off. He couldn't show all the markings.

"No, Master," he whispered.

Elrond frowned. "You were very exhausted yesterday. You didn't even stir in your sleep when I came to see you yesterday evening. You had a fever. Legolas, it sounds seriously, it means your system is not defending itself as good as it should. If you won't rest much now, you will fall ill."

Legolas swallowed the gasp that threatened to break free at the news of his Master 'coming to see him' 'yesterday evening'. Did he come to demand first service and found me asleep? And he's not furious today? Who is this Elf to react this calmly…?

"I must… rest?" Legolas asked finally, not believing his ears that a Master who should find him new occupations was ordering him to lay down.

"Yes. It would be best if you slept much. And you have to put on weight, that is no discussion. You are much too thin."

Legolas was dumbfound. And speechless.

"What else ails you? I'm sure you have more injuries like a broken finger or a painful, huge bruise. Show me, I want to help you."

The ankle. It was so painful to walk around on it, and surely he could show it; it was only a leg, after all. No other injuries there. And having it stop hurting would help a lot. He leaned to take his boot off and untie the rags keeping it on. Elrond grimaced at the state of his footwear.

"Tomorrow Erestor will lead you to a cobbler and you will get new shoes. These are unfit to walking at all." He said. "You will also need more clothes. And, of course, I would forget… and maybe that as well…to keep you warm…" Elrond started muttering to himself. Legolas glanced at him, uncertain what to do or think of it; his Master seemingly felt a troubled look upon himself, for he smiled and waved his hand dismissively.

"Don't mind that. Tell me instead, do you feel the cold? You was shivering yesterday." Elrond sobered again and rested his vigilant eyes in Legolas's. The elfling lowered his head immediately.

"I do, Master."

Having his worst assumptions confirmed, Elrond felt a shiver down his spine. Poor child, he thought, and watched troubled as Legolas undid the boot finally and rolled his trouser-leg higher, revealing a maltreated foot, with corns on the sole and abrasions creating wounds, abandoned to heal by themselves, but seemingly ineffectively. The ankle was dislocated and swollen to its limits.

"And you were walking like that?" Elrond asked some while of looking later.

"Yes, Master." Legolas said simply. The Lord sighed.

"Does the other foot look the same?" Legolas nodded slowly. "Then take the other boot off as well and show me. It cannot be left like that, this won't heal by itself, didn't you know?"

Legolas avoided his eyes. Elrond sighed; it was a small step forward, Legolas showed him _something_. "From where this comes from?" he asked.

"I was walking behind a horse, Master."

"Seems like running to me. And stumbling often. What if you could not get up? They dragged you further by the rope tied around your wrists?" Elrond's tone was ironic, disbelieving and outraged. Legolas felt the sting of unease. Elrond was getting angry, and that was not a good sign. What has tempted him to show the ankle? How stupid of him…!

Still, the answer was expected of him, so he said another truthful "yes, Master" and undid the second shoe. The Lord in front of him snorted.

"Bastards," he muttered to himself, rising and disappearing in the other chamber, leaving the totally confused Legolas alone for a while. He returned with a big bowl of water, which was placed on the floor near the armchair. "Put your feet into the water," he said.

A generous amount of tiny, richly scented leaves was added to the water and the smell, so refreshing and comforting, made Legolas's head spin. The water was hot and soothed the poor feet, giving a really pleasant feeling.

"Keep them in the bowl for some time. It will help, trust me. Now tell me truthfully, are you beaten anywhere else?"

Legolas swallowed. He couldn't tell.

"Don't you have more bruises, abrasions, wounds anywhere? Tell me, I can help you. Every injury needs tending." Legolas shut his eyes. Elrond grimly nodded to himself, knowing that the answer was 'yes', but the Elf would not show him anyway. He wondered what else was the reason except his trauma. "Listen, you were abused and it was wrong. Now the Mirkwood Elves are gone, you are safe. You can show me. I will help you."

"I'm fine, Master. There are no more wounds."

"Moreth helped you, right?" Legolas nodded. "Do you want me to give you something for the pain, at least? You must be hurting." Legolas shook his head frantically, afraid of the trap. The Lord could give him anything and say it was a painkiller.

Elrond sighed sadly. He shouldn't expect trust at all.

"Alright. Now answer me… Moreth said you spent some time in the dungeons. No, child, listen… calm down, I won't do anything, I won't touch you… alright?" Elrond moved both his hands away and silently observed the tears that formed again in the dull blue eyes. Finally Legolas nodded his acknowledgment, trying to calm down.

"Easy, easy now. It's all right. Calm down, nothing will happen." Elrond repeated, giving his patient some more time. "Tell me… I want to know if you have been… whipped."

Legolas only trembled. Elrond took it as a yes.

"I should see your back."

The look that Legolas gave him was a mixture of hurt, panic and total resignation. He shook his head in denial, desperately wishing he didn't say anything and didn't show his Master any injury. As he imagined the Lord seeing his inflamed, welted back, all hope left him at once and he felt lightheaded enough to fall from this armchair face down.

"You don't want me to touch you." Elrond said quietly, but continued with more urgency. "It's alright, you have the right to be scared. Now, if I give you a special salve, will you apply it to your back by yourself next time you're bathing? It's important. You have to do this tomorrow morning."

Legolas opened his eyes in shock. The Lord wasn't insisting? Was he interested only in the injury, anything else? He nodded hopefully, sniffing loudly and giving his new Master a wide-eyed stare.

"Good. I need to prepare something to set your ankle later, so please excuse me." Elrond smiled and went to his desk, leaving Legolas alone for a moment. The Elf watched his Master bustle near the desk.

Soft knocking sounded and the Lord called to enter. The blond, handsome Elf from the council hall appeared, smiling negligently; he walked closer to Legolas, who immediately tried to stand up, but was gently seated back in the armchair. The slave refused to look at him and bowed his head low.

"What do we have here?" Glorfindel chuckled kindly. "Our newest citizen. My name is Glorfindel, it is nice to meet you, little one. You look a bit better than yesterday; was your day well?"

Legolas nodded quickly, biting his lower lip. Glorfindel glanced at Elrond uncertainly, and the Lord came closer, bringing with him supplies he needed.

"Is it something serious?" the blond asked, pointing the bandages.

"No," Elrond answered in Legolas's stead, "The right hand will heal in no time, the broken finger will need a few weeks however. The ankle is dislocated and swollen, it needs setting. Legolas was walking on it all the time, so…"

"…it's bad?"

"…not the best." Elrond sighed. "Imagine this: Erestor ran into my chamber some time ago, totally frightened, saying that our friend here scared him to the core. He said that Legolas had dropped a plate accidentally. Poor creature thought Erestor was going to kill him for that," he said in a light tone, settling for lifting the atmosphere a little. Glorfindel smiled kindly.

"We do not kill Elves," he said, laughing quietly. "And for sure we do not kill anyone for breaking even hundreds of plates."

"Oh, but Legolas understands that. Does he?" Elrond asked, trying to catch an eye contact with the Elf. Legolas nodded. "And he understands that no one is angry at him?" Another nod. "And he understands that he doesn't have to be afraid any more?" A pause, then the briefest of nods came. Glorfindel scrubbed the back of his head.

"Does Legolas speak?" he muttered quietly.

Elrond spared him a long glance. He took the smelly liquid again, wetted a cloth and told Legolas to lean in. The gash on his forehead was given Elrond's full attention: it was cleaned properly and some greenish unguent was smeared over it with a tiny wooden paddle. Then the healer took the soft cloth he had prepared and gathering a generous amount of another ointment on the cloth's surface, he put it in the youngling's hand to lead it to his bruised cheek.

"There. The substance will let the bruise disappear," he told him and stroked the blond head gently. "Hold it like this for a while."

Legolas nodded, smiled sadly and curled in himself, pressing the cloth to his cheek. Elrond decided to leave him here for a moment and find out what Glorfindel wanted from him, to let the elfling sit in peace. The warm water with _athelas_ needed to have some time to work on poor feet. He told Legolas to wait and walked away with Glorfindel. Legolas dared a sigh of relief when the two Lords left him; Elrond did not miss it. If anything, his worry only heightened.

"He doesn't look good," Glorfindel stated the obvious.

"Oh really? This child is intimidated past any of my expectations," Elrond whispered. "He went hysterical over an accident. Can you imagine what they did to him to break him into this level? What the possible punishment would be in Mirkwood?"

Glorfindel shrugged helplessly. He glanced at the elfling's direction. Legolas was nursing his cheek, checking the bandages on his left hand and the sticks holding the broken finger stiffened. Glorfindel thought that he may see something like this for the first time in his life. He was wrong; in Mirkwood a fight for survival was a daily basis. Many a time one needed to help his friend in case of an injury, and broken limbs were not rare either, so that they had to know how to tend to this kind of wound as well. But Legolas has never seen a gauze as thin as mist and as white as snow, he never knew the healing touch of Elrond's knowing hands and had never suspected that the ointment could actually help him. He tested everything cautiously, uncertain and full of distrust.

"Anyway, you wanted something from me, my friend," Elrond interrupted Glorfindel's musings. "What was that? I wanted to see to his ankle, and then lead him downstairs, but otherwise my time is your time."

"I just wanted to keep you company and talk with you a little. I can wait. Or maybe you want me to go? For I don't know if Legolas can handle an audience."

"The more normal we behave around him, the more normal he will get with time." Elrond said. He gave his friend a meaningful glance and took a white, thick towel from a cupboard.

In that towel both Legolas's feet were wrapped and dried delicately. The Elf wanted to do this himself, but as his hands were bandaged, Elrond didn't let him. Giving a soothing warning the Lord longed the ankle in place and made a proper, wide compress, pouring on its inner surface some smelly ointments and concoctions to recede the swelling. Wholly wrapped in bandage, finally stiffened and secure, the ankle had a chance to heal. The same went for the rest of the foot; it was wrapped in bandage, special oil applied and the wounds tended.

"Alright. Give me the cloth now," he instructed the youngling and Legolas gave him the cloth obediently. Elrond wiped the last remnants of the ointment from his cheek and throw the cloth away after the usage. "Come now. I will take you downstairs. Have you eaten supper already?"

Legolas shook his head no.

"Then we will go to the kitchens. You must have gone hungry by now." Elrond smiled, but Legolas shook his head again. "You're not? When have you eaten last time?" Elrond inquired.

"In the morning, Master," Legolas whispered.

"Haven't you eaten dinner?"

"No."

"Why?" Elrond asked, stopping.

"Because… I thought… I am allowed to eat only once a day, Master," Legolas explained quietly. Elrond sighed at that.

"No. You _were_ allowed to eat once a day in Mirkwood. _Here_ you will eat more," Elrond said determinedly, feeling growing anger at King Lathronios. "Here you will eat at least three times a day. You are to attend the meals that are held in the hall."

"Three…?" Legolas repeated, dazed.

"Yes. Three. Or more, if you wish. You will not be hungry in my house."

Legolas said nothing at that and let his new, strange Master to lead him. It was weird to walk with a stiffened leg like that, but soon he developed a rhythm and discovered that walking was less painful then. Glorfindel bid him good night and they walked out.

Elrond led Legolas to the kitchen; the supper had ended a long time before, and the rooms were mostly empty, but one plump Elven woman with a braid around her head was still bustling around, humming quietly. Elrond smiled, seeing her. He was glad. He had always liked to be in a presence of Belithravien, for she was not only kind and open-hearted, but also reasonable and practical like a good housewife.

"Belithravien," Elrond said. "Can we count on something to eat? I know the time is late, and you have already cleaned after supper, but I'm sure you can find something, right? Please," he asked politely. "I have someone hungry here." Legolas glanced at his Lord suspiciously, not quite believing his friendly tone and a smile, but said nothing.

"Oh, my Lord. What I am to do now? We had salmon for the supper. I thought it will be to your liking, and you didn't even appear." Belithravien said grumpily, brandishing with the dishcloth dangerously.

"Erestor brought me a meal upstairs. It was delicious, Belithravien, but I couldn't appear at the supper, the councilmen consumed all my time." Elrond said.

"I always repeat that, you don't have even time to go and eat with everyone, you will work yourself to death, my Lord! It is burning the candle on both ends." Belithravien fussed over Elrond and seated him at the table.

"Actually I might only want to take something with me, because Glorfindel is awaiting me in my chamber," Elrond smiled apologetically, seeing how she scowled. "But this little Elf would appreciate a supper. Here," and he showed her Legolas, who was all the time hiding behind the broad form of Elrond. As Belithravien saw the skinny Elf, she threw up her hands in despair.

"Skin and bones!" she exclaimed. "You are this new one, right?" she grabbed Legolas's arm and pulled him towards herself, assessing, shaking her head and making displeased sounds at his appearance. "Come here, son, I shall make you something tasty. Just wait a little, sweetheart," she told him and put in front of them trays with bread and butter, then two mugs with warm milk. Soon jam appeared, hard and white cheese, some ham and few sausages left after supper, vegetables and fruits. Belithravien was just about making scrambled eggs, when Elrond stopped her, seeing the stunned and disbelieving Legolas's expression.

"Thank you, Belithravien, thank you so much. That will be more than enough. Come, sit with us," he invited the woman and smiling kindly, moved the tray with bread closer to Legolas. The Elf took one slice shakily and put on his plate. Receiving Elrond's permission, he reached for the ham and put one slice on the top of his bread, then uncertainly lifted the sandwich to his mouth.

Belithravien observed the Elf all the time, but said nothing. She just glanced at Elrond, who nodded sadly. Not waiting for anything more, Belithravien took another slice of bread, this time the bigger one, and started to make a 'proper' sandwich herself, with many colorful ingredients chosen from the table. When done, she put it on the elfling's plate. Legolas thanked her silently, then asked for permission in his Master's eyes. Elrond slowly extended a hand and began stroking the fair head steadily.

"I have a request, Belithravien. Please, take care of this Elf, and make certain that he eats properly and attends all meals, will you do it for me?" Elrond asked, watching Legolas.

"Of course I will, my Lord." Belithravien said seriously. "I will take care of you, sweetheart. Don't worry," she turned to the Elf and Legolas smiled thankfully, but had not the courage to look into her eyes any longer and bent his head.

"He has eaten only once a day so far," Elrond informed the woman. "So don't force him to eat big meals, please. Bit after bit we will teach him to eat normally again. I'm afraid that's not the only sufficient change, but always it is a step forward."

Legolas gave him a frightened look. Elrond wasn't sure if he understood him the way he wanted.

After a supper Elrond walked with Legolas to the sleeping area, where he had slept the night before. The round room was dark and airy, as few windows were opened, so the Lord closed them and lit one candelabra of wax candles. They gave much of the warm, orange light and soon the atmosphere brightened a little. Yet Legolas was shivering.

"Are you cold?" Elrond asked and saw the Elf nod. "Elves do not feel cold. It worries me that you do. Has it always been like this?"

"Yes, Master," Legolas confirmed, rubbing his arms. Elrond checked the elfling's forehead, searching for fever, but this time he found none. The previous temperature must have been just exhaustion, then.

"Erestor said he would see to that someone changed your bedsheets. You need a thicker layer, so instead of a blanket you will have an eiderdown," Elrond said and prepared the little bed.

Legolas thanked his Master solemnly. He just prayed for him to leave, for undressing in front of him would be something terrible. Elrond knew he couldn't push the elfling too far, he already spent much time with him that day and the slave was undoubtedly scared of the powerful Master's presence. Seeing his distress, Elrond kept his distance.

"Neremiel left for home some time ago, but she will wake you tomorrow morning, like today. Belithravien will remind her. Now you're alone, but soon a few Elves will return from the patrol and sleep here. You won't be alone for long. Do you need anything?" he asked.

"No, Master, thank you," the Elf said, eyes still observing the floor. Elrond reached and lifted his chin delicately.

"Don't be scared. Today you are weary and still weak after the journey… and the treatment of Mirkwood's guards. That is why I would want you to sleep now, Legolas. You need much rest. Do not get up earlier than Neremiel tells you to do." The Lord said. Legolas gave him another incredulous look. "We will talk another time. I have some questions that you can answer. I would like to know your story. And we have to discuss the details of your stay." Elrond smiled encouragingly.

"Will I…" Legolas hesitated, for he was speaking out of turn, and asking questions was not something allowed and free to do. His domain was to listen. Yet Elrond urged him to ask.

"…will I stay here, Master?"

"Do you want to?"

Legolas saw concern in his Master's eyes. This had to be a trick of traitorous candlelight that he looked so worried about his answer, it had to.

"Yes."

"You will stay here, Legolas. Goodnight, child." Elrond stroked Legolas's head one last time, then he walked away quietly.

Legolas watched the empty doors and fought a battle with himself. He couldn't understand the behavior of his new Master, so warm-hearted, so kind, so merciful. No one was ever as good to him. He did not shout at him, he did not order him a beating. He didn't do any threatening move nor indicated that he is interested in using him sexually. He talked to him like he was not a dirty slave, only a normal Elf, like those surrounding him. He allowed him to sit in his presence, more – he sat near him on the floor. He gave him food. He never once hit him, never once…

This could mean many things. Some of them wasn't appealing to the frightened elfling. Most probably, Elrond wanted to make Legolas trust him, to stop fear him, so that he could talk with him more easily and touch him without worry that he would flee or fight. That way he would spare himself trouble with breaking him to his will the rough way; that always took some time, as for Legolas's experience. He had no idea what Elrond wanted of him, but he suspected he would not like it. The Lord needed his cooperation and wanted to buy it with kindness.

Well, Legolas was close to accepting the offer. No more beatings or shouts were worth every price. He was so tired, so exhausted with that day, fear and stress, and all of his injuries which were starting to remind him of his beaten body. I knew what I was coming here for, Legolas thought, touching the new eiderdown he was given. Still, Master Elrond with his gentle hands and calming voice was if not a beckoning image, then at least bearable. I am just a slave, and he will take me soon enough. So be it.

The soft, fluffy fabric under his fingers suddenly made him realize he was given so much in so short a time, even if he behaved unacceptably. Wasn't a price for all of it a minor one? First sob arouse in his chest and threatened to tear out of him, when he spread the blankets over himself and sunk in the pillows, which were also in a greater number than yesterday.

"You are good to me, Master," Legolas whispered, closing his eyes. Whatever that kindness meant, whatever… he stayed with me all evening, Legolas mused, feeling tears slipping away from under his eyelids. He helped. A healer. A Master. He fed me, he promised not to hit me, he said I would stay here. A good Master…

Muffling the sounds in the pillow, Legolas gave up any tries to collect himself.

Elrond walked away slowly, abandoning the doors and audible sounds of crying coming from the room. He realized the Elf did not believe him when he said it would be better from now on and he had nothing to fear. In the same time Elrond had a heavy feeling that he should not expect any trust just yet. He should be prepared for a long fight for Legolas' normality. It required time. Elrond sighed; _this is going to be so difficult, good Valar… So difficult._


	4. It hurts

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: MATURE AUDIENCE PLEASE. Drug abuse, brutality; healing the result of torture, mentioning of rape, self-inflicted violence. Dark chapter, please heed the warnings.

Please give me some feedback! This chapter was damn difficult.^^

Chapter 4: IT HURTS

/*/

The following two days became a constant line of surprises and total confusion, but also a pure wonder in the good, bright meaning of the word. Legolas was slowly getting accustomed to his new surroundings. Imladris was indeed beautiful, with lots of sun and warmth, bright colors, mostly livid green. The trees were different than in Mirkwood. They were wider, somehow heavier, their branches long and powerful, allowing one to sit on them if he had a desire of climbing trees. These were mostly trees with leaves. Legolas was accustomed to a long, soaring pines and spruces, or beechwoods with a silvery bark, high and proud. Imladris trees were friendly, their talk melodic and whispery. The trees have immediately became Legolas' first friends.

And this variety of flowers! Legolas never suspected that there could be so many flowers. Many of them were typically decorative, planted in the gardens, but whenever Legolas glanced at the far meadows, they were shimmering with thousands of wild violets, golden marsh marigolds, daisies, blue myriads of forgetmenots. He slowly, slowly recalled legends about this bright land from his fuzzy mind, overwhelmed with dark memories and pain of late. He had heard a few tales and he remembered what Moreth had said. He kept comparing it with reality and found himself utterly stunned. Few times during the day he was ordered to fetch something or carry a message, and that sometimes led through a sun-filled patio, or the neighborhood of the stables. These were the most beautiful moments in these stressful days, when he was glancing up and letting the sun kiss that pale, cold skin of his. Imladris was a miracle.

Elves living here were strange. They were laughing too loudly, jesting, humming during work. They talked freely, even in guards' presence. Sometimes there was such a big noise and chaos in the kitchens that it seemed impossible to serve the dinner on time. Yet, somehow, it was always ready, and always equally delicious.

Belithravien made good on her promise and kept an eye on the elfling all days. Under her watchful gaze Legolas was learning to eat again. He was trying dishes he had only served to Mirkwood royalty so far and that was not something he could easily accept or understand. All Elves here were eating like kings. Legolas assumed that Imladris was simply a heavenly rich land. He never believed Neremiel when she was telling him that's not true, for Lothorien is much, much richer, and these meals are being only normal, nourishing breakfasts and light dinners. The border of Legolas' perception was unmoving, however. Hunger was constant in Mirkwood, so Legolas had a bit different idea of richness and judged everything from his own level.

Neremiel was actually the second person of the trio he had got to know. She had become his little timer, bringing Legolas to the kitchens in the morning, seeing him to bed at the evening. Legolas had to struggle to hide his injuries and morning pain from her, chewing the leaves in discreet. Not an easy task, for she was so very curious of everything. She asked tons of questions, and Legolas could not let her notice that he was too weak to answer them, or too tired to comply immediately. As a result Legolas thought it best to wake before she was coming, chew the leaf and then pretend to be asleep until she came to get him up. It happened to be a right reasoning, for he could steal even an hour more of sleep, and when he woke, there was no pain at all. The only thing worrying Legolas was that he was running out of that precious medicine.

The third one of new friends was Gwaithtir, the guard he met at the border. He was very kind to him, but Legolas was afraid to stay near him alone. His physical strength was considerable, and he could easily hurt him, if he only wanted to. So during any talk with the guard Legolas was staying good out of hand's reach, whole his body tense, his eyes fixed on Gwaithtir's hands. Yet the guard seemed to like him, and a lot; so after an awkward start these talks had become a tiny bit more carefree. Legolas saw the guard often. He had no idea Gwaithtir was ordered to watch him and inform Lord Elrond personally.

Legolas wasn't called to his Master's study again. He saw his Lord few times in a corridor, spoke with him briefly and each time was treated very kindly; but he had no information as far about his stay here. He only knew he would be kept. He concluded he had to make a good impression, work hard and accustom to this new place quickly, so that he can please his Master and assure him he was worth keeping. He treated this time as a probation. It showed to be a good time altogether, full of new things, but good.

The strange, blond and handsome Elf, his Master's friend called Glorfindel, hadn't showed from two days. Legolas had no problem with it. Neremiel told him that Glorfindel was actually the famous, legendary Balrog Slayer, who came from across the Sea again, being send back by the Valar. Legolas froze during hearing the story. He knew it from his childhood. Glorfindel had immediately taken a highest position in his mind as a mythical hero and Legolas was deeply scared of him now.

In the meal time Belithravien was seating him at the table and feeding him systematically bigger amounts of food. At first it was wonderful, his famished system wolfing everything down, but with time, as his hunger was sated, Legolas was dangerously close to tears because he simply could not eat any more. He was afraid of Belithravien's wrath or that she would tell Elrond, so he was forcing himself to eat everything and excusing himself only to throw up somewhere he could not be seen. He suspected Belithravien would kill him if she found out, so powered by fear, he had to pretend further.

"What have you eaten in that dark wood, sweetheart?" She asked him once, standing behind him and motherly cuddling him to her hip, as he was sitting in front of a full plate and nibbling. She had always referred to his homeland 'that dark wood'.

"A stew with bread or potatoes," he answered truthfully.

"Was there meat in that stew?" she asked in a sad voice.

"Sometimes." Legolas replied, jabbing a piece of tomato with a fork. "Sometimes we had even sausage."

"And you really had not eaten anything more? Whole day?" Belithravien could not believe her ears.

"No… we had the bread left, we were saving it in case we were hungry."

"Is that why you are keeping dry bread under your mattress?" The Elven woman asked. Legolas dropped the fork and turned to her two frightened eyes. "Neremiel told me." Belithravien said, reaching to stroke the pale cheek. "Pen-neth, if you ever want some food, just come to me. You don't have to store bread. You will be given anything you want to eat, I promise." She soothed and brushed the single tear away with her thumb. "You will not be hungry in this house. I swear, sweetheart."

"Thank you, my Lady," Legolas muttered, bowing his head. The woman sighed. No matter how many times he was said not to, he addressed others as 'my Lord' or 'my Lady' even if they were not one. He called Elrond 'Master', of course, and Erestor 'Sir' – but only because he gave him directions to do so on the first day. Belithravien once again shook her head at this elfling's terrifying obedience.

"You cannot finish your dinner, can you?" she asked, seeing how he struggled to eat everything. He nodded miserably. "Just a bit more, honey. Please. Few spoons, alright? It's hot, it will do you good." The woman said and turned away to her work. Legolas did as he was told, looking mournfully in the depths of his plate, full of soup thick with chopped meat, vegetables and rice. Today he was lucky. He would not have to force himself to throw up after having his stomach filled to its limits.

Erestor still didn't find a proper, full-time occupation for the blond slave. In fact, he did not need anyone more in a household. As a result Legolas ended as a helper in everything. That contented the young one; Legolas was truly afraid that his Master would decide to make a more personal use of him. He wondered if he was told already about the ways he can be used for.

He liked the work in the stables best. There was always something to do, no matter how many Elves were up to work. Recently he met Glorfindel there, after some time of absence: Legolas saw him tending to his own, huge, grey horse (1). He was brushing him slowly, in hypnotic, round moves of his elegant hands, humming a low melody, stroking and petting. The horse was standing still, contented with the attention he was receiving, sometimes nibbling on the fresh hay he was given. His warm, quiet neigh was pleased like a voice of a cat, which was being held on somebody's knees and stroked.

Legolas couldn't stop staring. No one of royalty had ever tended to his own horse in Mirkwood. He thought Glorfindel, a famous hero, far above that dirty obligation too. And here he stood, in stained pants and an opened shirt, brushing the horse as if it was a totally normal thing to do.

Unluckily he spotted Legolas and the hum died into a short second of surprised silence.

"Hello, Legolas!" Glorfindel called. The elfling forgot even to bow with respect, he just hid behind a stall, his heart racing from fear. The Lord sighed. "Do not hide, Legolas, I saw you. Come here, please."

Please? Legolas repeated in his head. Why did he say that? He came out from behind a stall and obediently approached, his eyes fixed on the floor, praying that this encounter didn't end in a disaster. He came closer and recalled to bow, cursing his idiocy.

Glorfindel assessed him closely and smiled in a friendly manner.

"You look a bit better, Legolas. How are you feeling?" he asked politely. The Elf forced himself to answer 'good, my Lord' in a whisper.

"What? I didn't hear," Glorfindel whispered back, winking conspiratorially at the blond child. Legolas stared for a second in confusion, then repeated louder. The Lord nodded and obviously waited for more details, yet none came, as usual. The two was just standing near and staring at each other, Legolas with fear, Glorfindel with curiosity.

Finally the Lord sighed and extended a hand, wishing to stoke the blond head in a soothing gesture, but Legolas jumped away.

"Don't be afraid, child. Come here, I will do nothing." Glorfindel assured, and Legolas suddenly found himself enveloped in a fierce hug, being encircled with one arm and pressed to the wide chest. The other hand was still holding the brush. Glorfindel rubbed his back comfortingly, like he would help a close friend. Legolas was petrified.

"Easy, Legolas, easy. It's going to be alright, you'll see." The Lord said. He continued to rub his back for a moment, waiting for some kind of an answer, but when none came, he settled for a friendly talk. "Come on, say something… You are here from three days, things should not look as scary as at the beginning. Do you like Imladris at all?" he asked.

After a short while Legolas nodded against the broad form. Glorfindel was warm. His hands rubbed steadily, making no violent gesture, moving no lower than the half of his back and no higher than his nape. This wasn't an introduction to any assault, be it physical or sexual; if he wanted to have his way with him, he would just flop him on the ground and have him pinned. Deep breath under his ear matched the beat of a strong heart, which was only steady. Nothing indicated that Glorfindel could have an attack in mind. Was this just a comforting gesture, then?...

"And what do you like best?" came the curious question.

Legolas hesitated. "My… my bed," he said finally, eliciting a warm chuckle from Glorfindel. "And the trees."

"Do you like horses, Legolas?" Glorfindel asked, stroking one last time and loosening his grip. Legolas straightened, but – surprisingly for himself - stayed close.

"I do, my Lord."

"Have you ever ridden on one?"

"No… I haven't." Legolas glanced at the grey, proud animal. "He is so beautiful, my Lord." He dared to whisper, not quite knowing what to say and disbelieving his own courage to speak out of turn.

"Give me your hand."

Legolas hesitated. What was this about? Glorfindel took the slowly offered palm and with a smile put a brush into it, securing it on place with a leather strap on the top. Then he covered it with his own and led to the horse's back, making a sure, definite movement down, along the side.

Legolas was speechless. He was brushing Glorfindel's horse. This mighty Lord wasn't terrifying at all, he was just like his Master in that first evening; what a strange, wonderful happening, Legolas mused, daring to cast a glance up at this legendary hero and finding only kindness in his gaze. And Legolas smiled, truly smiled for the first time in this strange place.

Yes, it's gonna be alright, Legolas thought and sighed. Having Glorfindel behind, his hand leading his and his kind voice in his ear, talking about all stables equipment, was giving a strange sense of safety. It was a blessed state of peace slowly settling down in Legolas. It was a fragile, exhausted calmness, the last remnant of his fear. Like a deep breath of sweet, wet air after the long and especially violent storm, when you was afraid, but now you know it's… just over. What was this feeling called…? Legolas asked himself, and the muscled back under his hand moved as the horse shifted his weight from one leg to another.

Oh yes. Relief.

/*/

Trying to endure the pain, Legolas chewed desperately the last tiny fragment of the leaf, along with the dust from the few accidentally crushed ones, which he licked thoroughly from the paper. Feeling only daze, pain in and frustration, he checked for the hundredth time if there wasn't any forgotten leaf somewhere in his clothes, or maybe in a hiding place under the mattress.

Nothing. Nothing this time. Feeling rising panic that he would not be able to work and earn a severe punishment, fighting the dizziness and nausea Legolas got up only to immediately sit back down on the bed. His body was slow and trembled from the strain. He wiped the cold sweat trickling into his eyes.

"Sweet Elbereth, give me strength, I beg you," Legolas sobbed out, feeling utterly helpless. He just sat there for a few more minutes, trying to calm his heart, that was beating much faster than it should. He settled for deliberate, long and calm breaths. Eventually it worked, and the blood wasn't pumping in his temples madly like before, so that he could think.

He brought both his hands to his forehead and rubbed delicately. His position was bad, but not tragic. There was no need to panic, he told himself. I can endure it. After breakfast it will be better. Some hot tea will calm the stomach and when I move around a little the pain in the muscles will recede, they just need some warming up.

"It's gonna be alright," he said aloud, as if to convince himself to that statement. "It's not that bad. You can endure. Now, up."

Standing up was possible after a few tries, yet making the bed drained him. Legolas only thanked the fate that Neremiel was not coming to wake him up today, because she was coming on the afternoon shift. Alone, without her prying eyes, maybe he would manage to get up and collect himself.

He slowly made it to the door, holding to the wall of bunk beds by one hand. He was swaying on his feet, and his sight was strangely blurred, but he managed to walk out and close the door behind him. After few minutes the dizziness was gone and he accustomed to the new position, only his head hurt.

"See?" he said aloud again, leading a self-to-self dialogue. "It's really not that bad. You can do it."

Focusing at cautious breathing, which was hurtful due to his beaten ribs, he walked to the kitchens. There, as he sat down, he felt a bit better. His knees buckled, and his hands trembled when he was taking the plate of sandwiches from smiling Belithravien. She saw immediately that he was unwell, for the cold sweat was pearling on his forehead.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" she asked, here eyes going wide.

"Yes, I only have a headache… I wasn't sleeping much this night, my Lady, I couldn't sleep. I'm alright." He lied. She shook his head.

"My brother says the same, I think it's going to be a change of weather. The clouds have appeared, it will be cooler today, maybe even some rain shall fall… That would be good for the tomatoes." She mused kindly. Legolas took the tea and sipped a few spoons. Like he supposed, his stomach calmed down after it. But the mere thought of eating was nauseous, so he told Belithravien he really wasn't hungry now, blaming his headache, and somehow managed to avoid eating today. She strictly demanded a promise that he would come later and eat something. Being a caring and watchful Elven woman she told Erestor at the first occasion and he promised to check on the elfling shortly, what calmed her a bit.

In the meantime Legolas was helping in the other room in the kitchens. He was exhausted and sore all over, and work was so troublesome that day. With time he discovered he was being wreaked by chills. Sending a prayer to Elbereth for help, he tried to focus; dizziness was getting worse, even if the headache waned a little by now.

One Elven boy told him to go to the stables, as he heard the boys needed another pair of hands there, so Legolas obediently left the kitchens about noon and headed to the paddocks. As soon as he started walking he knew it was a bad idea. He started shaking from effort, he couldn't catch a breath, walking drained him as if he was running for long hours, his vision blurred in front of his eyes. Hopefully he didn't meet anyone on his way and could focus only at moving his feet.

Please, please, please… let me get there, sweet Valar, he prayed. His ankle was hurting so. He thought he could not endure this throbbing anymore and just tear the bandages out, but with the last ounce of his willpower he controlled himself. Instead he let himself a short while of rest under the tree; he collapsed on the grass and wiped the sweat away from his eyes.

After few minutes he struggled to get up and scoured his back by the trunk doing so. It brought him relief, for his back was itching maddeningly; probably some old scabs covering the wounds and the scars were the cause. He did it again, harder this time, and it felt even better; so Legolas rubbed his back on the trunk few more harsh times, knowing he should already be in the stables, but being powerless to go. Finally he forced himself to step forward, cursing his weakness and idiocy that he had not broken the last leaf on two and hadn't taken one part today. Maybe he could prolong the peace of his first days in Imladris that way. What will Master say now? Ineffective worker, stupid, disobedient slave. What use could come of him. He didn't blame anyone, his Master was the last on the list of persons he could blame for his state: it was himself he loathed for being so weak.

"You can do this," he muttered through gritted teeth. "It's not far. In the stables you will have a wall to lean on."

His hands were shaking and the sight of the ground was blurred, swaying like a huge swing. Was he still walking, or maybe it was flying? He wondered, for he couldn't feel the ground under his feet, and he lost any sense of direction. Where was up and where was down…?

Blood pounded wildly in his temples, to the point it almost drowned out the other sounds. He noticed a small bloodstain on his thigh. The bandage must have slipped, when he was sitting under the tree, and the wound somehow had to reopen again. Oh, whatever.

He reached with shaking hands to the stall door, but he had no strength to open them. Leaning on them, totally exhausted, he tried again and again, but the cold sweat just blinded him. His body was tired enough with bearing his own weight, unable to find any more strength to push something. Every breath hurt too much, so shouting to open the door would be a bad idea. He knocked.

When someone opened the door finally, wearing a stupefied expression on his face – because who would knock to the stalls? - Legolas saw that Lord Glorfindel was in the stable today, having a merry talk with the stable boys. As the Lord saw him, he nodded to Legolas in greeting, yet the elfling could not return the gesture, still clinging to the doors for dear life and shivering. Glorfindel frowned and came closer, his eyes going wide with shock as he assessed him better.

"Legolas, are you alright?" he exclaimed in unhidden worry as the Elf before him swayed on his feet.

" …'m fine," Legolas muttered, his eyes rolling back, and fell straight into Glorfindel's extended hands, loosing his consciousness.

The Elves burst into action. Glorfindel lowered the limp body on the ground, checking the pulse.

"He only fainted," Glorfindel said, calming the youngsters down. "Get a cloth or something and cool his face, but carefully," he instructed, taking both Legolas's legs and lifting them up so that the blood could flow down to his heart and brain.

A bucket of water and a ripped sleeve appeared immediately and one of the grooms wetted Legolas's hot brow.

"He is burning, my Lord!" he said. The second one opened Legolas's high-collared tunic to make breathing easier. The other took his right hand and was checking the pulse.

The water did it's work. Legolas's eyelids fluttered open, and he awoke with a sharp intake of breath. He moaned, rolling his head to the side, and simply lay there a moment, panting heavily. More water was applied to his face and neck.

"Legolas!" Glorfindel called. "Legolas, can you hear me?" he asked. The blond slave turned his glare to him and then his eyes darted to the sides. Seeing that his legs were being held in the air and he was surrounded by unknown Elves, who were holding him or staring at him, he panicked. He wrenched his legs out and clumsily rolled away from them to lay near the stall doors, his movements weakened and slow. He curled in a foetal position and covered his head by both hands.

"Please don't…" he mewled, trying to fight the awful feeling in his head. "Don't hurt me…"

Glorfindel recovered from the shock first. He knelt near the curled figure, trying to soothe, to help.

"Legolas, you fainted, you are unwell. We want to help you," he explained, taking Legolas's hand in his to uncover his face only to see blood pouring from his nose. Legolas seemingly didn't notice it.

"Please, I'll get up in a short minute… just… please, give me a moment… I'm fine… I'm sorry, sorry, I will sta… stand…" Legolas muttered nonsensically, turning his head away from the light coming from the opened doors and sniffing, copper taste of blood in his mouth. He kept his eyes tightly closed.

"Legolas, you need help, let me…" Glorfindel slipped his hands under his armpits to pick him up, but he screamed as Glorfindel put pressure on his back. The Lord withdrew; his hands were strangely wet and sticky. They were coated in fresh blood, just like the tunic where Legolas's back was pressed. Glorfindel saw that the fabric was torn and had greenish stains. The fiery red flesh underneath was smeared with blood.

"Run ahead to find Elrond, I will carry him to his chamber" Glorfindel said quietly to the boy on his left, staring at the bony body. The boy was stiffen in fear, but complied immediately and ran as quickly as he could to the palace, to inform Lord Elrond.

Glorfindel leaned again and scooped the slender body from the floor. He couldn't believe how light Legolas was. The Elf made a painful sound and started to protest both at lifting him up and informing Elrond; he was terrified to the core and telling his Master about his injuries was something he desperately wanted to avoid. He was afraid that knowing that he was punished before Elrond will send him away. What use could he possibly have from a disobedient slave, after all. And the one he needs to heal first! Unthinkable…

"Legolas, don't," Glorfindel said, seeing how Legolas's head fell back. Seeing that the Elf had not the strength to lift it up, he turned to the nearest stable boy. "Help him… yes, lay his head on my arm. He would be choked by his own blood," he said and headed to the doors as quick as he could. Legolas's murmur reached his ear.

"Please no… he'll be angry…"

"Who? No one will be angry at you, Legolas, we will help you! What had happened to you?" Glorfindel almost shouted, feeling utterly helpless at the sight of the quickly fading Elf in his arms. He felt the front of his shirt getting wet from the elfling's blood, so he took a shortcut through a southern tower stairs. Legolas moaned pitifully as Glorfindel kicked the door open and started to climb the stairs, because the movement was ungentle. Glorfindel started to run as soon as he reached the Royal Wing.

"Hold on, Legolas, hold on, we're almost there," Glorfindel soothed and spotted Elrond at the opposite end of the corridor, coming out of his chamber, clad in a white and sterile robe of a healer. "Elrond!" Glorfindel shouted, running to his friend. "Elrond, he needs help! He just walked into the stables this morning, then fainted; we managed to wake him, but he's in much worse state, just look," the blond Lord said, walking inside the chamber with Elrond.

"To the healing room, there," Elrond instructed and Glorfindel brought the stunned Elf inside. There was another chamber behind the main one, the entrance secured with a red curtain, and there they headed, so that Glorfindel could put Legolas on a clean, wooden table. Legolas curled on it in a foetal position and covered his head by hands.

Elrond frowned at this sight. "Go wash your hands, I will need your help," he said to Glorfindel.

As Elrond saw how bloody Glorfindel's shirt was, he felt a sting of serious worry; what had happened to that child? Glorfindel quickly disappeared in the bathing chamber, leaving Elrond alone, so in his absence Elrond wetted the small cloth and put it to Legolas' nose.

"Here, little one; I will help you sit up, put it to your nose," he said and pulled the slave up. "Lean forward, keep the cloth this way… yes. The bleeding should stop in a while, wait now."

Legolas nodded, powerless. He swayed where he sat on the table, his eyes closed to keep the intruding, vicious light at bay. Elrond frowned, assessing him. He was so pale, almost white.

"I'm back," Glorfindel announced. "What's wrong?"

"I was hoping to hear more details," Elrond said, watching the poor creature start to rock back and forth, in a slow, depressed rhythm, staring at one point in front of him with a blunt, dull look, shielding his eyes with a hand.

"Just look at his back," Glorfindel said quietly, staring at Legolas with terrified eyes. Elrond grimaced at the sight; so that was it, Legolas didn't tell the whole truth about his injuries when Elrond asked about them. Now he was simply too exhausted to hide them anymore.

The Elf Lord attempted to remove Legolas's tunic, but met resistance. Wide-eyed, terrified stare rested on him.

"Don't be scared, Legolas; peace, pen-neth," Elrond soothed. "I will help you. Just be still. Let me."

Legolas let him. Obediently moving his hands as required, he allowed them to take the tunic off, even if his tremble increased and a sob threatened to brake away. He stopped understanding why he was here, his fuzzy, hurting mind wished only to lie down, to loosen the pressure on the walls of his skull; Legolas was slowly losing control over his limbs, voice, reactions, tears. Rising panic at the sight of the two Lords in front of him, wearing strange looks on their faces stung like a huge needle somewhere in the lower back. He felt like choking, suffocating, his inner alarm warned to flee; but these were his Masters, he couldn't… he just wished them to let him go and allow to lie somewhere he could be alone and at peace… What did they want from him? Was it _that_ moment he most dreaded? Had he offended them by fainting today and all this action in the stables? Will they punish him for that bruises and marks…?

Elrond's face sank as he saw those exact bruises which appeared to be under the tunic on the Elf's chest. The pale flesh was covered with dark brown and purple marks, especially in the rib area. Some of them had turned to yellowish shades, some stayed a mix of deeply violet mash with green surrounding under his skin. His chest was also scarred from previous injuries, hideous burn marred his left side and long lacerations covered his arms. Elrond ghosted his hand over the ribcage. The appearance of the bones indicated that few of them were fractured.

"His ribs," Glorfindel pointed few places. Elrond nodded.

Walking around the Elf they saw a criss-crossing net of bloody, thin, long wounds, created by a whip of sorts, torn open by violent scrubbing on the tree. The flesh around the lacerations was swollen and pink. It was an unhealthy flush, caused by probable infection, the cause of the itching.

"See this?" Elrond asked his friend. "Here. The flesh under the wounds is also scarred. Here faintly, but look at this." He pointed an especially mean scar coming from under Legolas's armpit. "It's an old one, you can tell by the color."

"An infection managed to set in several places," Glorfindel pointed. "Here, here… and here."

Elrond came in front of Legolas again and looked him in the eye.

"Who did this to you?" he asked, his eyes full of terror.

"…Mirkwood," Legolas whispered, as he could not think out another answer. Speaking hurt.

"Give me the cloth, little one… see, it stopped. Don't be afraid, don't be scared… I am a healer, I told you. I will help you now. Lie down, alright? Yes… Glorfindel, help me… good, that's right, little one," Elrond soothed, lowering the too light, bony body on the table again.

"I don't like the smell of his sweat," he frowned, bringing his hand closer to his nose. "It's not normal… It smells like he was… hmm," Elrond was muttering, moving his hands to Legolas's head. He felt high fever. "Did he hit his head, falling?"

"No. I caught him."

Elrond cupped Legolas's face in hands. His skin, despite the fever, was cold and clammy to the touch.

"Look at me. Look me straight in the eye." The Elf focused his tired glare on his Master. Elrond lifted his eyelid more. He saw unnaturally big pupil. He laid his head back and Legolas moaned quietly.

"Dilated pupils, sweat with strange smell, dizziness, weakness, blood from the nose, faint, fever…" he counted. "It's not a poison, not a toxicosis… and why the infection hadn't settled in earlier…? What on Arda is this? …no… no, this must be…"

Elrond froze. _Moreth. Medicament to dull the pain. Lanewel._

"Legolas, look at me," he called, turning to the Elf again and shaking him gently into awareness. "You took a medicine, your friend Moreth gave it to you. Remember?" he asked, struggling to stay calm.

"Y-yes," Legolas rasped, lolling his head to the side.

"What was that? You must tell me, what was that?" Elrond demanded. Legolas was silent for a moment, trying to answer. His voice came out almost too soft.

"A leaf… small, brown… to chew…" Legolas managed to stammer. Elrond murmured a quick praise and ran to his main room to fetch several vials. Then he turned to his friend.

"Glorfindel, go and call someone to fetch few things, please. A bowl, a big one. He will be vomiting very soon. Additional blankets, few towels and fresh _athelas_ from the gardens. And at least two buckets of hot water, quick. We need to wash his wounds. Go, please," he told him. Glorfindel ran out.

Luckily the stable boy who ran ahead to inform Elrond was still standing in the corridor. Glorfindel praised him for being so considerate to wait and repeated the order from his liege, then returned in a hurry.

"Could you please tell me what's going on?" he asked Elrond, who took off Legolas's new shoes and threw them on the ground.

"I talked to his friend, the one who spoke in his defence in the council hall, remember? He told me that he gave his friend a drug to dull the pain. He got it from Lanewel. You remember good, old Lanewel?"

Glorfindel flinched.

"This funny guy I rescued from the orcs, and who proposed to sell me drugs half price off? Of course I remember," he snorted.

"Legolas was looking more or less healthy, wasn't he? No infections, no pain, no bleeding, even his limp was not that obvious. He could get used to being dazed, so he didn't even feel it so badly and behaved normally. And we did not see anything," Elrond hissed, irritated. Glorfindel could sense how angry at himself he was. "The symptoms as well as the effects of the drug indicate that it must have been Coffin Nail."

"Oh no." Glorfindel sighed. "You want to tell me that… that…"

"There is no cure for overdose. But he did not overdose. The drug has stopped affecting him, in a short moment he will be overwhelmed by withdrawal," Elrond said. "Help me undress him. There may be more injuries."

Glorfindel lifted Legolas up a little, while Elrond untied the laces of his leggings and pulled the fabric down, but Legolas mewled almost desperate 'no', struggling and pushing their hands away. The quickly rising need of the drug in his system was reducing him to basic instincts only. He fought as wild as he could in his recent state, trying to grab the fabric by his hands and cover himself back, but had not the strength even to grip the leggings by his weak fingers.

"Shush, little one, it's alright, I will not hurt you," Elrond cooed, throwing the garment on the floor. "No one is going to hurt you. Lie still…"

"No… please, no… don't…" Legolas mewled heartbrokenly. Glorfindel sent Elrond a meaningful gaze.

Legolas started shivering. Even if in the room was warm, the chills wreaking his body were more and more evident and his limbs started to tremble. He stopped struggling, all his strength drained. His eyes closed tiredly as he surrendered.

"Withdrawal." Elrond said. In the same moment a boy sent to fetch required items knocked on the door and Glorfindel saw two more Elves carrying water, blankets, towels and other supplies. The blond Lord thanked them, ordered to put the things in an easy reach and wait outside. The stable boy stared at the limp, ravished form on the table, partially shielded by Elrond's broad form, and shook his head with eyes wide open. Glorfindel saw him to the doors, patting his arm reassuringly.

Elrond wasn't sure if Legolas even registered that someone else was in the room, but to make him feel a tiny bit better he laid a small towel at the level of his hips to cover his nakedness from view. Then he returned to his injuries.

A gray, unclean-looking rag was tied on Legolas' left thigh. Elrond cut it off and saw a nasty gash which obviously had been attempted to be treated. The makeshift bandage didn't fulfill it's function. The wound smelled foully and was infected by now.

The rest of his legs, apart from occasional abrasions, probably from chains or ropes, and the dislocated ankle was in quite good shape. Glorfindel turned the Elf on his stomach, trying not to jostle him.

The Balrog slayer cursed as nasty as he could possibly muster, and Elrond made a gasping sound, suddenly feeling hopeless. The whipping wounds did not stop at Legolas' back, they reached down to the top of his thighs. But the worst sight was his backside, now red and smeared with blood, as Legolas had torn the scabs open, writhing on the table. Yet it looked more serious. These little cheeks were the biggest cluster of the wounds and it looked like it was done on purpose, to debase the victim and humiliate him even more. Glorfindel cursed again.

"This child was being flogged repeatedly," Elrond stammered.

"If not worse," Glorfindel added with voice full of loathing.

Legolas tensed suddenly, shuddered, sobbed. Glorfindel felt a pull at the hem of his shirt.

"…gonna be s-siick," the elfling stammered and Glorfindel quickly jumped away. He fetched the big bowl he ordered to be brought while Elrond lifted Legolas, holding him under his armpits. Legolas wheezed painfully and threw up.

Elrond held him through the fit, while Glorfindel wetted his brow, trying to bring the fever down some. It was giving huge relief. Legolas arched again, giving out all he had in his stomach.

"Will you not stop it?" Glorfindel asked.

"Not now. It's good he is vomiting, it's the sign that the drug is leaving his system," Elrond said. "Come on, little leaf. I know it's an awful feeling, I know. Be brave, pen-neth," he was repeating, but Legolas was not listening.

The sick Elf was tensing visibly in short pauses between the heaves. Elrond soothed and whispered reassurances all the time, but Legolas didn't seem to register them; he was aware only of the strong hands holding him through the fit and Glorfindel's presence. Not understanding what was happening to his body, laid naked on some table and submitted to his Master's scrutiny he felt completely lost and frightened right out of his mind. Had he the strength to do so, he would fight them off and run away, so that no one could touch him and they all let him heal in peace. Why was he brought here? Why was he stripped? What were those smelly liquids standing on the shelves, what were those tiny knives and needles, scissors and other instruments he did not even recognize? Why the two Lords were inspecting his injuries, speaking of him like he was not even in this room? And now, Legolas thought desperately, retching again, they will be angered, they will do something, they will hurt me somehow. One part of his slave-trained mind was assured that he was doing something wrong, disrespecting his betters. How could I throw up in their presence, offended and angered they will punish me, he thought.

"Hold on, Legolas, it will soon be over, don't fight it, let it all out," Elrond cooed to his ear. "You will feel better after it ends. Trust me. Don't be afraid, give it out," the steady, calm voice seemed to bore into Legolas's mind. What was that voice saying, to trust, not to be afraid? Legolas couldn't understand.

A wet cloth was pressed to his brow again. Oh yes, that was good. That brought relief. More of that…

As Legolas had not much in his stomach, all too soon the violent fit transformed into a dry, tormenting vomit. A thin thread of saliva flowed down Legolas's chin and he could not wipe it away, to his embarrassment. His stomach rebelled again. The Elf heard Elrond's voice in his ear.

"Shush, shush, little leaf. It's alright. It's alright, don't be scared." He said, wiping his mouth with a cloth. "This is enough, he might dehydrate…" Elrond turned to Glorfindel. "Hold him like I do, I need to do something."

They switched places, and Elrond took one of the vials he brought, pouring a spoonful of awfully herbal-scented substance. The scent alone was enough to make one throw up, but Elrond held Legolas's jaw rather fiercely and forced him to take the medicine into his mouth. The Elf struggled so much that he almost wrenched out from Glorfindel's grip, but then went limp in his hold.

The drug was quick to take effect and he did not vomit again. Elrond murmured a soft reassurance and helped Glorfindel to lay him back on the table.

Now Legolas was completely dazed, but at least he let them tend to his wounds with no struggling, seeming absent, resigned and passive. Only trembling of his limbs did not lessen and the thundering of his heart was so strong that the vein on his neck was pulsing like mad. Elrond feared for this poor heart, but now he could no nothing for it. He hoped Legolas had some strength left inside.

With wet towels two Lords cleaned him from the blood, then disinfected every wound or abrasion, to apply proper liquids and herbal brews which helped to stop the bleeding. This achieved, they discovered that the terrible sight of the Elf's back was not as tragic as it seemed, for not every welt bled. Legolas' poor backside though was tortured to the point that he could not tolerate any hand touching it. Elrond knew it as a mental issue more than physical pain. Glorfindel held the sobbing Elf fast, while Elrond did the work there. The few biggest wounds also needed sewing. It was a long and painstaking effort, difficult to achieve with Legolas' tremble, but Elrond had worked on worse cases in the past. Legolas was so dazed now that he did not feel the needle at all.

"Now the ribs," Elrond said, cleaning his bloodied hands and closely observing a prone form of Legolas being laid back on a towel-covered table.

"What do we do?"

"We bandage him tightly from shoulders to waist, and hope the body will do the rest," Elrond said with a sigh. But before that I need to examine it…"

He moved to stand beside Legolas, gesturing for Glorfindel to do the same. They manipulated Legolas's ribcage, feeling the broken ribs. On Elrond's side there was three of them. Glorfindel sensed two.

"Legolas, do you hear me?" Elrond called the Elf. He did not react. "Legolas. Legolas, here, listen to me," Elrond shook the Elf gently into awareness. His daze was serious. It was difficult to get through to him.

"I want you to take a deep breath. Breathe deeply, Legolas," Elrond said, and after a while the Elf complied, but stopped, feeling the pain in his ribs. "I know it hurts, I know. You must breathe deeply. Legolas, please, do it, only once," Elrond coaxed, but elicited no reaction and no pleas would help here. Seemingly that pain was more than Legolas could handle.

Elrond knew that if the lung was punctured, Legolas would be spitting blood and not even Coffin Nail would help here. But he needed to know the size of damage done to the living tissue, and for that he needed to hear his patient's breathing. Having no other choice, Elrond used the power of Vilya, ordering Legolas to breathe mentally. He did. The breath came out of him with a moan, but Elrond seemed relieved, having heard none of signs of a serious damage.

"He did not puncture his lungs. He will be alright."

This at least were some good news. A special balm was massaged into Legolas's flesh, then he was securely wrapped in bandage which formed a tight vest. Both his arms were cleansed and tended to. More bandage was added to the top of his thighs down to knees.

"How we will bandage that?" Glorfindel asked, pointing to the tortured backside. Elrond came closer to the cupboard in the corner and took a clean sheet.

"Can you tear it in wide stripes? Yes, that wide," the Lord nodded and applied a double dose of special balm to the red, welted cheeks. They wrapped the wounds loosely all the way around his hips, easy enough to remove it without much fuss.

"Wait… well… What if he has any internal injuries?" Glorfindel asked tentatively, finally voicing the question which was pervading the two from some time. Elrond spared his friend a long, intense gaze, thinking closer about the possibility.

"There is no point in checking now," he said finally, moving his hand down the thin back. "The possible wound has probably healed by itself already. No need to put him into further stress. But that does not exclude…" Elrond sighed uncomfortably, searching for better words. "Still, the violation could happen. That is even… more than probable. From what I heard… his friend told me…"

Glorfindel worried his lower lip, trying to remain calm.

"And what if the wound was given fairly recently? For example, in a day he was brought here, or a day before?" he insisted.

"He would be limping, walking stiffly. No, it is a type of wound which cannot be seen, but somehow is impossible to misjudge." Elrond replied, shaking his head and delicately straightening the bandage on Legolas' backside.

"Would we see it, while he had this ankle? He was limping already."

"But there were no bloodstains whenever he sat somewhere, his bedsheets were clean, his clothing also. He wouldn't have been able to hide it, that is simply not possible."

Elrond stepped away from the table, as if hesitating; he shook his head though and disappeared in his chamber. Soon it showed he was gone to fetch a comb. He made Legolas's matted hair into one braid, so that the Elf would be more comfortable. Glorfindel stopped him, when he was securing the end of a braid with a leather thong.

"Look at this," he pointed Legolas's neck.

"I saw," Elrond sighed. "Look more closely. Can you see it, here? It looks like a print of a thumb, laid like that," Elrond put his own finger on the mark to prove it. "But the rest is concealed by the rope. I suppose it was a rope."

"A noose…?" Glorfindel whispered. "No, now I feel sick…"

"Was it done on purpose to hide the marks of choking by hands, or was it done because he was sentenced to death?" Elrond asked with a flatliner face. "If so, what happened? The rope broke? He was pardoned?"

"Or was that just a play?" Glorfindel ended. "If only we knew what happened," he hissed dangerously.

Elrond took off his bloodied healer robe and washed his hands in remaining hot water. Then he scooped the broken body in his arms, paying attention to be as gentle as possible. He carried Legolas to bed, placed in the adjacent patient bedroom, and with the help of his blond seneschal tucked him in.

A small bowl was filled with some water and _athelas_ leaves. Sweet, refreshing scent filled the air, and after a while of inhalation Legolas's breathing came somewhat easier. Elrond took yet another vial and delicately moved Legolas's jaw open, spooned a generous amount of the drug into his mouth. That was an antiseptic sufficient to fight the infection, necessary even with others applied locally. A wet cloth was laid on the pale brow. The fever would not give up that easily.

Two Elves sat on the edge of the bed, observing the white-pale creature on the bed, who had positively drifted off to a deep drug-induced sleep. They were tired, but could not abandon Legolas so quickly. Not yet.

"What will happen now?" Glorfindel asked. "What will be, when he wakes?"

"Difficult to say. But he will be totally confused, and his memory might fail him." Elrond sighed. "Let me count. The wounds were not fresh; they must have been inflicted upon him about two weeks ago or even more. The contingent had been travelling for 12 days, as they said. (2) That means he had been whipped in Mirkwood, but the gash on his thigh he earned on the road. The burn looks old too."

Elrond sighed, falling silent for a moment. Glorfindel let him think.

"He must have been given the Coffin Nail on the road; and before, possibly. Let's assume two weeks. And since he came here, that is four days. The worst option is that he was being drugged three weeks." Elrond mused.

"Long," Glorfindel's eyes widened in fright. "You think he is addicted?"

"A human would be, certainly," Elrond sighed. "Three weeks… even being an Elf, he may be under the force of addiction… But mayhap he has some strength left yet. In any case, it will be difficult to fight the mental pain caused by the lack of the drug," Elrond said and stood up. "He had faith in this magical medicine. All the pain went away after it. He had his anchor. Now we took it away to submit him into a torment of slow healing, and he will feel helpless."

"He pleaded me not to show him to you," Glorfindel said. "He said you would be angry."

"In Mirkwood he was not allowed to show any pain. Besides," Elrond glanced at the mess behind him and the bloodied table, "would you like to confess to your new Master that you were beaten almost to death? What would he think? That you earned this punishment, of course."

"This was no mere punishment." Glorfindel growled.

"You know and I know. But Legolas does not. He will need much care, so much care, Glorfindel," Elrond sighed.

"If he survives." Glorfindel's gloomy voice sounded and he glanced back at his friend. "Elrond… you are a healer, not I. But in my opinion he may not make it. When you see that he is only struggling, tormenting, instead of coming back to life… when you see that there is no longer sense… you have such medicines. Do not hesitate, for this one saw too much already, was forced to endure too much. When it's hopeless… give him a way to escape."

Elrond stared a moment at the unhealthy white face. Then he sighed tiredly.

"Go and change, Glorfindel. I will clean up here, then we will let him sleep. He has been through hell today."

Glorfindel nodded and patted his liege's arm, walking out.

Legolas, unaware of his surroundings, sighed in his reverie. Elrond smiled sadly. The painkillers and antiseptics were working, keeping the reality at bay. A deep, healing sleep undisturbed by pain was much needed.

Elrond came closer and stroked tenderly the fair head, then the ivory cheek.

"Poor thing." He muttered. "Poor, little leaf. Little Legolas. Don't listen to Glorfindel. He is a soldier, he thinks in his specific way. He should better say that you fight with all of your strength." Elrond sighed, petting the pale face tenderly. "You will be well again. And when you are, I shall take care of you. I'm here. Sleep well, pen-neth. Rest."

(1) Given current timeline, I don't know if Glorfindel has Asfaloth as his horse. I'm afraid he would be dead then, when the story about the One Ring comes in. Even Elven horses does not live that long. That's why I didn't mention Asfaloth, only replaced him with some other proud stallion.

(2) According to the maps from "Hobbit" LOTR and Karen Wynn Fonstad's atlas I measured the way from Thranduil's Halls to Rivendell. (We assume here that the complex of the caves has been built or started by Oropher.) From my measurements it's roughly 570 km. A normal horse can make about 50 km a day. Elven horses would make about 60, I assume. The contingent would not hurry overly though and let's add some time for meals and rest. That gives us about 12 days of travelling. Please forgive me for this Math, if there are mistakes, you are welcome to correct me.


	5. Breathe, just breathe

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: MATURE AUDIENCE PLEASE. Slash (in flashback), a critical state of one certain Elf. And something you could call cliffhangers. So again healing themes, but trust in Elrond.

Chapter 5: BREATHE, JUST BREATHE

/*/

Elrond kept coming back to the healing room in shorter and shorter periods of time, once he had discovered that Legolas' state was worsening with every hour. Finally he sat down on a chair near his bed and watched over the Elf. He knew watching wouldn't help, but he couldn't focus on anything else and he felt he could not leave Legolas alone.

He stroked the fair head gently and the semi-conscious Elf whimpered, frowned as if in pain, but otherwise made no other sound. Elrond supposed he was far too weak to form any coherent words. Delicately he uncovered the bony body and inspected the inflamed wounds which marred the white skin. Legolas was unresisting; swellings near the wounds forming under the bandages told Elrond that the infection managed to settle in anyway and now was being fought in his system. The healer wondered if the Elf was in pain, and if so, how much; through his daze he shouldn't feel anything, but if he was conscious enough to register the pain, lying on his back must have caused sheer torture, and the fever could engender unpleasant visions. The drug leaving the prone body was a deadly poison in bigger amounts, a huge danger to a system as weak as Legolas'. Seeing him now abed Elrond imagined him laying somewhere in a dark cell in Mirkwood dungeons, in a pool of cold water trickling from the ceiling, unconscious and incoherent from fever, totally at guards mercy. And Elrond saw under his eyelids what the guards could do to him then. The thought made his stomach churn.

Suddenly Legolas stiffened and called something in a frightened voice; it wasn't loud, it wasn't even articulated. But Elrond could recognize the call for help. He opened his eyes, but seemed to be blind to the world surrounding him. Elrond soothed him delicately, wetting his brow, cooling his limbs and whispering quiet incantations. He hoped that the Valar did not abandon this child, not now, when he finally was in a safe place, almost at the end of his nightmare. Elrond knew he could give him no more medicaments, not until the drug finally leaves him for good. He could only wait. But waiting was consuming him, and he could almost feel the cold breath of Námo in the poor Elf's aura. Legolas called again.

"Shush, little one. It will be soon over, don't let go," Elrond whispered, stroking steadily the blond, matted mane.

Yet seemingly all his encouragements were for naught, because Legolas closed his eyes tiredly, and his breathing, shallow as it was, slowly began withering. Elrond felt a sting of alarm. Quickly inspecting the pulse, he found that it was almost imperceptible, and in any case far too slow.

Legolas was dying.

"No, not now! Don't give up!" Elrond scooped the slender body into his arms and laid the poor head on his arm. Doing what he could, he channeled his own energy and strength into the drained Elf, praying to the Valar. Vilya shone dimly on his finger. He knew that Legolas' fëa must hear him, even if his mind couldn't register what he was saying, so he spoke.

"You cannot give up now! Legolas, I know you can hear me. You are scared and you don't know what is going on around you, you're in pain and you cannot believe I want to help you. I understand all that. But please, give me a chance! Give me a chance to make it better! To heal you, to take care of you, to save you! Come on, little one, I know you can do this! Breathe!" Elrond fervently spoke to his ear, gently rocking back and forth. "Please, sweet Elbereth, let him live, give him one more chance! Legolas, fight! Fight. You must. Trust me. Trust me…"

Legolas made no move. He did not open his eyes. It wasn't a physical case, Elrond's energy should ease the breathing and help a lot. Elrond could feel slight dizziness and delicate weakening of his fingers, he knew he did send the energy and it was delivered. Legolas simply didn't intend to use it.

"Legolas, what do you have to lose…? Try, please, try again. I know you can. Please, please… breathe," Elrond cooed to his ear. "I promise to take care of you. You are safe here, no one will ever hit you, no one will hurt you. We will do everything we can to give you real life again. I promise. Hear me…? It's a promise…"

Feeling tears blurring his vision, the strong and powerful Elf Lord pressed the limp body to his chest and sent a prayer to Eru himself, asking for help. Legolas was so cold in his arms, so still.

"No matter what he is saying now, no matter what he asks… please, don't take him away," Elrond said through a clenched throat. "Don't take him away, don't take him away… don't take him away from me," he whispered.

Glorfindel inhaled silently. He was standing in the doorway, watching the two; he came into the room drawn by a strange feeling of dread. His suspicion was proved correct, it was about Legolas. But he never suspected Elrond would commit himself so much. After all, he knew nothing about the blond slave. Glorfindel knew that there was always a strong bond between a healer and his patient, especially so mistreated as this one. He knew that Elrond was overprotective the way he was, just his nature. He could imagine how sorry he felt for the mistreated, innocent being and how much he wanted to help, feeling guilt that he hadn't noticed the elfling's injuries earlier. But 'don't take him away from _me'_…?

Glorfindel recalled another situation, twenty years ago, when Elrond was sitting near the bed of his own wife and praying for her life just like he was today. He suddenly realized the similarity of this situations and instantly knew how painful a blow will it be to his friend. His own throat clenched and choked him, blocking the air.

"Wake up, little leaf," Elrond pleaded. "You cannot die here, not now, not after so much effort and tries… Don't give up! Legolas, start breathing. Start breathing now. I promised you. Dare to believe I was honest. Breathe…"

Glorfindel could not watch anymore. He was just about to come closer and tell his friend it was over, when Elrond actually sobbed and laid the broken body on the bed again. Glorfindel suspected the worst, but Elrond smiled through the tears and laughed quietly.

"Yes, little one! Very good! Breathe, breathe more… good boy, brave little Elf. Good. Breathe steadily. Like that. Don't stop. Breathe…" Elrond praised, stroking the blond hair, observing how the flat stomach raised and fell. He channeled more healing, and this time all was greedily accepted, a faint blush covering the pale cheeks under the treatment.

"Very good. That's right. Brave little leaf. So brave." Elrond smiled and wiped a few tears which escaped his eyes by his soft sleeve, putting Vilya on his left hand forefinger again.

Legolas's fëa decided to accept, to trust. And even if Elrond knew that Legolas was far too traumatized to feel the choice of his soul and trust in his mind and body, Elrond had a certainty that Legolas would survive. Now, as he decided not to fade, no threat could be too dangerous, for he _wanted_ to live. He was safe.

Glorfindel tactfully retreated, leaving his Lord and friend alone with his thankful prayers. His heart was racing and the feeling in his throat didn't lessen even a bit; the scene he had just witnessed was all too meaningful. Not exactly knowing why, he felt like a dirty eavesdropper, touching things he shouldn't have, invading his friend's too intimate areas.

He leaned on the wall and dared to glance inside again, just to check what was happening. Elrond held the fragile hand and wetted Legolas' body with athelas water. The Elf wasn't responding, but he was breathing; evidently now, surely. Elrond's relief was almost possible to feel in the air. His elegant hands were shaking slightly.

Glorfindel moved back. He sat in the armchair, absent-mindedly looking through the papers on the table before him. They all seemed totally unimportant under the assault of thoughts in his head and he threw them away, dispirited. He tried to hear what was happening in the other room, yet no sounds escaped the small chamber.

The blond seneschal sighed and rubbed his brow tiredly. In any case, he decided to wait here and mind the doors, so that his friend would remain undisturbed; it proved to be a wise reasoning. He discarded a few royals and listened to messengers, taking responsibility of repeating the news to Elrond. He told Erestor about everything, when he came looking for the blond slave in panic. His eyes were wide as saucers when he saw the prostrate form on the bed; he sat down on the nearest stool and said nothing for a long while, covering his mouth and nose with a hand, as if afraid to breathe.

Erestor brought something for Elrond to eat, for he knew the Lord wouldn't move from his spot at Legolas's bedpost. Today's afternoon session was quickly moved to another day, all audiences and messengers excused, and Elrond's private quarters became a sacred sanctuary with no one allowed to enter.

Glorfindel still stood near the wall.

"Elrond?" he spoke quietly. His friend glanced at him. "He… got the drug from Lanewel."

A nod.

"So, he is in Mirkwood? Lanewel is in Mirkwood?" Glorfindel asked. "He is enslaved, right?"

Elrond sighed deeply. He couldn't look his friend in the eye.

"No. He's a free Elf." He choked out.

Glorfindel left.

/*/

Pitchfork up, pitchfork down. Fresh hay on the left, the dirty old one on the right for the grooms to carry out. Glorfindel devoted himself to physical work to calm his nerves. The stable boys watched speechless as the powerful Balrog Slayer robbed them of their job. Well, he was a Lord there. He could do so if he had such a fancy.

The stables were a place where Glorfindel spent many hours weekly. He liked to be here, and every day he visited his grey horse, a proud and loyal stallion which was both his friend and a fellow warrior, bearing his weight and carrying him in battles. The proud animal was devoted to his master; now and then he would push him on the back with his velvety nose or the shapely head, but today Glorfindel was unusually unresponsive and angry. The horse could feel his distress and grief, so it abandoned the try to gain attention. Today it was only about working, just to keep busy; to be somewhere only not to be somewhere else. Up, down. Up and down comes the fork.

"_If Elrond says you should rest one more day, you should. It is unwise what you're doing."_

_Lanewel snorted openly. Glorfindel frowned; he felt a little offended by that gesture which wasn't followed even by the tiniest of looks in his direction. He was giving him a good advice, after all. _

"_Do you decide to ignore what your healer told you, then?" the blond Lord asked, crossing his arms on his chest. "This is not something we are used to here."_

_Lanewel straightened, repeated Glorfindel's pose and came to stand close enough to invade Glorfindel's personal space. His smirk was getting really unnerving._

"_What are you used to here?" he asked teasingly. His eyes shone. "I do admit I have no idea about your customs. Saving strangers and giving them protection is really a forgotten, unusual tradition. But I like it."_

_And he smiled friendly, becomingly. Glorfindel found himself trapped._

Glorfindel smiled absent-mindedly, recalling this characteristic smirk. Pitchfork up, pitchfork down. This smile would haunt him now, be it in nightly sleeplessness or daily routine. These eyes would be shining at him from the very skies.

"_This is pure… pure wonder," Lanewel breathed, staring at the magnificent sight of the waterfalls, roaring with cascades of water falling down. The sun shone through the tree branches creating long, wide rays of light, with fantastically sparkling dust in them. Lanewel stood in one of the light stains and his whole figure was given a golden glow. And these green eyes were laughing like no other Glorfindel ever met._

I agreed to show him the valley, Glorfindel recalled. We took two horses and galloped till we had no breath left in our lungs and no thought left in mind. I hadn't felt like that since Gondolin. We walked long hours, talking. I met a soul which would have been my closest friend in Middle Earth, if not this…

The fork landed on the ground, tossed with might and anger. The stallion neighed, surprised at such behaviour. Tears began to run down Glorfindel's cheeks.

"He is a free Elf" he choked out.

"_You're sure you don't want even a little?" Lanewel laughed, sniffing __a strange white powder he carefully gathered in a neat thin line on the top of his palm. "This isn't dangerous."_

"_I'm not afraid, I just don't use this," Glorfindel snorted, emptying the last bottle of delicious red wine from the oldest Imladris vineyard. _

"_Ah, it does no harm. It's really useful on the road. Few stop infections, other dull the pain… Nature gave us everything we need."_

"_You may get addicted to that."_

"_Don't tell me what I may get addicted to." Lanewel's eyes rested on the bare Glorfindel's neck, where the vein pulsated steadily, but fiercely. Glorfindel saw the stare. Yet it could mean nothing. They were both drunk. They couldn't possibly mind all their body parts to behave like they should. _

Oh yes, Glorfindel thought, I felt like a youngster near him, even if I was so much older! The wood under Glorfindel's fingers crunched mournfully, threatening to break. He treated me differently than others, and I felt like I wanted to impress him with all my might…

"_Impression? You saved my life, I saw you in battle, that leaves a huge impression,_ _believe me… what more impression could you possibly want to make?"_ he suddenly heard his voice in his head, so clearly, so vividly, that his head started to spin. He turned around, yet there was only his horse near.

_How did it happen? When? Suddenly there were lips on his own, certain and seeking, invading his mouth boldly like any other. Suddenly there was a warm hand on his nape, the wine bottle fell on the carpet and __rolled away further, staining it with tiny droplets like bloody pearls. Suddenly there was only silence and sound of breaths mingling. _

_When Glorfindel opened his eyes, he realized with horror that he barely responded to the kiss; he didn't object, but he didn't participate either. He was just taken by surprise at this and too fascinated to make a sound. Lanewel must have read it differently, for he chuckled and rose. _

"_I am away at dawn. I would like to… catch this three hours of sleep I have left to this time. I have stolen enough of your time."_

_Glorfindel didn't say a word. It was too late anyway._

_In the morning Lanewel readied himself to journey, when Glorfindel came to say his goodbyes. _

"_What is your name, actually?" he asked, amused. The blond Lord was silent for a longer while._

"_Glorfindel of Gondolin." He said finally. He never suspected that Lanewel __would start to laugh, and that loudly; he clamped his hand over his mouth in time not to wake anyone, but continued to chuckle for a long time._

"_And really?" he asked Glorfindel. He wanted to say that it is for real, but somehow felt stupid and didn't say a thing. Lanewel arched an eyebrow at him._

"_Alright, you choose something. Name me," Glorfindel said finally, feeling a little embarrassed._

"_Glorfindel of Gondolin," Lanewel said without hesitation. "This is my favorite name in all the world."_

_Glorfindel hugged him briefly for the last time. He smelled of smoke and wet leaves still. _

"_Have a safe journey," he muttered. "Until next time."_

"_Sure thing" the Elf said only. _

"Sure thing," Glorfindel sobbed. "Sure thing, until next time…"

Slowly and passively the Elf sat on the hay-covered floor and hid his face in hands.

/*/

It was damp and dark in this place. It was cold. Cold creeping to his stiff limbs, cold biting his muscles, cold attacking his exposed skin. The shiver was so intense that every spasm of his body was shattering the fragile stillness of the moment. For now he was being left in peace, alone in the rat-infested cell. He wished to use this time to gather his strength. And he couldn't, for no sleep would come and the violent tremble was ever-existent.

Please, let me sleep. Leave me alone. Let me rest.

_Glorfindel, give me my pack, I will need __a few things. A bustle on his left; someone hovering above him, the cold attacking with even more force, leaving him thrashing like a fish pulled out from the water on ice._

The door opened. Two guards went in and brutally yanked him on his feet. Legolas couldn't stand on his own: he fell on his knees, tearing the skin on the black, sharp gravel.

"Come on, you whore. Don't pretend you cannot walk, you had enough time to rest."

A kick in his ribs. Pain exploded in his side, aggravating the ribs, and in his head, blinding, burning, suffocating. He started coughing violently, thinking that he would spit his lungs out. The thin thread of saliva flowed down his chin as he stayed on his fours, head hung low, trying to catch a shuddering breath. The white-hot pain threatened to cleave his skull in two.

_Easy, little one, easy… it__'s going to be alright… Take this. Here. Alright, the fit passed, I think... Something touching his lips. A cloth. Can you lift him up?_

He was lifted roughly, the iron-like grip on his shoulders so primordially brutal, so obvious, so… in order. As he couldn't stand, he was dragged forward. His hip and upper thigh brushed over the gravel, then the stone, leaving a clean trail in the dust and grime. It hurt.

But pain was good. It awakened him, prepared, never allowing to slip into reverie. It reminded him that he had to be aware now. Why, he couldn't remember; but all what was happening didn't kill the basic survivor instinct yet. He needed awareness to be able to endure.

Another dark room.

Few more Elves here and the strange two Legolas has never seen before. One slave girl, so young. She still had hair. And one bony Elf, shaved and covered with bruises, but conscious, calm and still. He was sitting on a bench and chewing a piece of bread.

Bread. Food. He was seeing food, or was it just a hallucination…? No, he could smell it in the air! It had to be real!

_Erestor, not now, just look at him, he w__ill not be able to eat anything. Holy Valar… Come back in an hour or so, maybe he will feel better. Now we must fight the fever down. It's dangerous, it's much too high. Can I help somehow? No, you can't._

The guards pushed him roughly to the wall, near the dirty girl. She stared at him in fear, searching for help he could not offer. He couldn't even find the courage to give an expected, calming answer at her mute question.

One guard came closer to that Elf on a bench and ordered him to kneel. The bread disappeared as if it never was true. The Elf obediently went down on his knees and waited for the guard to tell him what to do. He met a quick, harsh order, one word. Legolas didn't hear what was it, but he saw the guard unbuckling his belt. He stood with his back to the two, but the following movements were all too obvious. To Legolas' shock, the Elf didn't struggle; he eagerly obeyed the order, using the guards belt as a support to hold upright as the guard began to make obscene, thrusting moves.

A low, pleased moan coming from the warrior made Legolas' hair stand up on his head. The girl near him whimpered and started to cry, covered her ears by hands and closed her eyes. Legolas couldn't move. He felt sick on to stomach.

It all happened quickly, surprisingly quickly. At least in the beginning.

A guard came closer to the two, grabbed Legolas by his hair and dragged him to the centre of a small group of Elves.

"Now you will receive your training, little slave. After all, you need to know how to please your new Master. Kneel before me. Come on, don't be shy," came the mocking words, and cruel laughter followed.

Please no, please no. Not this. I just cannot…

"Give him a little," one behind him laughed. "He will be easier." He tossed a full bottle and the one standing before him caught it gracefully.

"Heard this, little slut? Will you obediently drink on your own? No? Very well, you have the right to choose, of course." Rough hands grabbed Legolas and held on both sides. The one behind him held his head by the hair, forcing his jaw open. The burning liquid flowed into his mouth, the mere scent so foul and potent that Legolas wheezed, and he had no other choice than to swallow, for he would choke; the alcohol left a burning trail down his throat, took his breath away and forced tears from his eyes. He wasn't given a pause before more was poured. He tried to struggle, but only choked as it went down the wrong way and he curled on the floor, retching, vomiting. He couldn't. His stomach was empty.

"See? He has had… _enough already," the voice came like from a deep well. Please, endure. Hold on, child, hold on. It's just water, only water… shush, I will give you little more. Please, you must drink it. You are dehydrated. Elrond, he does not hear you._

"Now. Open up, you cretin," the guard spoke again, trying to shove his flesh into Legolas's mouth. He clenched his teeth, turned his head away. He was positioned by the one behind and held securely. No way out. But I need to… need to…

A strange dizziness settled in his head, blurring the shapes, fading the light, washing away sound reasoning. His head was heavy, strangely sore, protesting at every move with an alien feeling. The blood was pulsing in his veins. His eyelids closed. Every beat of his heart was loud enough to deafen him. Why was it beating so fast and panicky? What was this all about, anyway…? Where was he?

"Oh, someone has had a little too much! Don't worry. We will sober you a little."

The girl. Thrashing in the guards hold. Crying.

"Take it," Legolas heard. "Suck me. Now."

Legolas recalled suddenly and the thought sent needles of revolt into his system. He just couldn't! He wanted to scream and run away, he wanted to throw up at the mere thought of… no! No, I won't, I won't, I won't… I cannot…

At the helpless shake of his head the guard took a big, metal hammer from the shelf, held it so that Legolas could see it clearly and pointed the girl. Her hand was held flat on the rough table surface, just a few steps away near the wall. Panic rose in her eyes as she begged silently for Legolas to yield, but even as he started formulating words of protest, in one fast movement the guard smashed one of the girls' fingers. A terrible scream rang in the air.

"No! Please, no, not her, me, take me, don't touch her! Let her gooo!" Legolas heard himself scream. He thrashed like a panicked animal, trying to get closer to the girl, not knowing what he could achieve by that, but still trying.

_Calm down, Legolas! Here… I got him. Shush, shush… peace, little leaf, no one __will hurt you! Shush… Glorfindel, this is for naught. Run to my bath chamber and fill the tube with water, but not cold, he would go into shock. Lukewarm. I will handle him! Shush… peace, little son, peace, elfling. _

"Take it."

He did. The pungent scent attacked his nostrils and his mouth were oddly stretched. He didn't know what to do, trying to escape with his tongue not to touch _this thing_. But soon he was forced to, as the thrust came and he gagged; he moved back, but met resistance. The guard behind him held him by his hair. Having no way out he started to cough; he couldn't stop his reflexes, he couldn't fight the urge to expel that thing out of his throat, but he was given no room. And the thrusting continued. Legolas felt like vomiting with the empty air.

He needed to endure. The grimace of agony seemingly entertained the guards. He prayed for it to end. Once it started, it felt like hours. His sore muscles screamed in protest, his knees buckled. His limbs, held in an iron grip, hurt.

Something hot and very bitter, something foul hit the back of his throat and Legolas tried to bent to spit it out, yet was stopped, held by his jaw.

"Swallow."

He did. His whole mouth burned.

There were others after that one. All four. The girl screamed behind them. Legolas stopped thinking, just _doing_ mechanically. _Enduring_. He didn't remember what was next.

Water again. Cold again. Silence again.

Dim light at the bigger hole near the ceiling. It must be sunrise out there in the woods.

_Lifted from the water, he was dried and held in someone's protective embrace. Shush, it's over now. It's over. A strange softness. Cold again, but this time on his nape; from his hair, maybe. Few droplets fell down from the blond strands and__ trickled down his collarbone. Hair was gathered in a towel, put near the pillow he was laying on. _

_It broke. Yes. Look how still he is. _

_I'm back. What happened, why are you wet? What? Did it break…? …no_… …I don't know, Elrond, I have just…

"Moreth…" Legolas whispered, opening his eyes. He smiled delicately, a naive smile of a silly happiness. A hand crept through the bed sheet and reached feebly for Erestor.

The head of Imladris' household froze in total shock. He cast a questioning gaze to his liege.

"You have brown hair," Elrond said quietly.

"M-oreth… please…"

Erestor crouched near the bed, took the fragile hand in his. "I'm here," he spoke. "I'm here. Rest, my friend. You can rest now. I am watching over you. Do you want to drink?"

An answer came in form of a displeased mewl. Unfocused eyes rested on Erestor.

"Can you be here…?" he asked in a broken voice, trying to answer the hold of his hand. "The… guards…"

"Yes, I can. Don't worry about me. Easy, Legolas." Erestor whispered. "Lay still. Rest. It will be over soon."

Legolas nodded trustingly, still holding onto his friend's hand.

"How is… S-silcan?" he asked feebly. "Is she… better?"

Erestor glanced up at Elrond and Glorfindel. Their faces held no knowledge about any girl named so.

"Yes, she's better," Erestor said quietly. "She will be alright. You will be alright too. Don't worry, I am watching over you, the fever is gone, you will feel better very soon…You are safe now. Be still, don't worry about anything. You are safe. Soon you will feel better. You'll see… everything is going to be alright… when you wake up tomorrow, I will give you something to eat. You are so thin. Easy, my friend, I am here…"

It took him a while to notice he was speaking to an unconscious Elf.

/*/

When Elrond came to inspect Legolas at noon, he finally saw a change. He was still fast asleep, but this time peacefully. No sounds escaped him: be it terrified whimpers or moans of pain, they were gone. Right now, this calmness was a blessing. The irregular beating of the Elf's heart was worrying Elrond all the time through the worst fever. Now it returned to normalcy. Its beating was steady again, quieter, in a well know rhythm characteristic for all the living creatures. Legolas was so still and so quiet that he looked more like dead than asleep.

Yet dead he was not, for he was burning again: not very badly, but bad enough to drain all energy and strength he had. His brow was coated with cold sweat.

The Elf Lord pulled the covers off the previous slave, reached for a cloth immersed in a bowl of water standing nearby just in case, and started to cool the young one's brow and limbs. Legolas started to tremble, feeling only cold instead of the hot blood in his veins, and made a quiet squeal of protest. Elrond could only talk to him and pray his movements are gentle enough not to cause any pain when he was lifting his limbs one by one and cooling them, pressing the cloth to his wrists, insides of the elbows and knees. Knowing fingers could feel the swelling where the wounds were, delicately probing the bandage. The skin was red and heated. The lithe frame was wreaked with chills. That fever was a particularly evil one, holding Legolas in its grasp since the day before, retreating and returning in turns.

At least they stopped the infection. Without it Legolas's state will soon improve, Elrond mused. The drug had left his system in the night and once this fever breaks, he will be on his way to recovery.

Suddenly Legolas opened his mouth like he wanted to scream, but no sound escaped his lips; he tensed and straightened strangely, then tossed his head on the pillow and lay again like dead. Elrond stopped his gentle administrations for a while and observed him vigilantly; he made no further move, but his eyes were open.

"Are you awake?" Elrond asked quietly.

Instead of an answer Legolas turned to him his wide, glowing eyes and gave him a frightened stare.

"There's no need to fear, young one," Elrond whispered, returning with the cloth to his brow. The blond flinched and trembled harder under the moist fabric. "Tell me, what's wrong? Something hurts you? Tell me where," Elrond asked. No answer came besides the trembling and the wild stare of a helpless, frightened animal. At the cautious attempt to touch him, Legolas flinched as far as possible; he curled around himself as tightly as he could, lying awkwardly for he had no strength to rearrange his body on the bed like he certainly wanted to. He pressed his face to the pillow and closed his eyes, seemingly trying to cut himself off the surrounding world. Elrond wasn't surprised. Legolas had a right to act strangely, for he barely understood what was going on around him. However, he didn't seem in a good enough shape to talk and explain.

Cooing and whispering gentle reassurances Elrond fought with the fever, trying to calm the Elf down as well. His silence worried Elrond, but he didn't ask any more questions. Now Legolas's physical well-being was a priority.

Finally the fever subsided and Elrond, thinking that the younger Elf was already asleep, covered him back and turned to the door. He glanced back to ascertain himself. Yes, Legolas was lying still and steady, deeply asleep again. Elrond left the door open in case something happened and let the young one sleep.

Only then Legolas dared to open his eyes and rise shakily on an elbow.

Who was this man? Where am I? What actually happened? – he had no answer for these questions as his mind refused to remember, and it utterly terrified him. His heart was beating harder and harder with every panicked thought, and the blood was pumping in his temples.

He looked down on the bed; the fabrics and blankets he was covered with were warm and precious, but felt strangely alien. It wasn't what he was used to. They seemed out of place. A sudden wave of heat engulfed him and he pushed the fabric off himself. He found he was naked.

His heart wanted to jump out of his chest. In total panic Legolas gathered the blanket around himself with one hand, the movement causing the cold sweat to trickle into his eyes. Why was he stripped? Why couldn't he move? Why this weakness…? Did _it_ happen again…?

The bandages were unnerving him; they felt uncomfortable like bonds, especially those securing his ribs and the one tied on his right hand. Not thinking much about what he was doing he tore them off with shaking fingers, fighting hard, even if he had no strength. Finally he tossed at least a part of it on the ground. The broken finger protested with sharp pain, some wounds reopened the violent treatment and the blood oozed slowly from the biggest cuts, staining the sheets and the pale flesh. His ribs felt like on fire and Legolas had a hard time breathing under the feeling.

He eyed the half–filled glass with water on the stand and reached for it immediately, so thirsty he was. He did not, however, manage to drink. His hands were shaking uncontrollably and the glass broke in his hand as he squeezed too hard, tiny shards cutting his whole palm.

Legolas gasped at the sight of blood covering his hands. He sat with his eyes wide, the shattered glass on his lap; from his bloodied hand the first wave of pain came, then another, and he started to be aware of his hurting, abused body. The pain soon caused angry red dots in his vision and after a while the tears came, the dizziness became worse and all he could do was to fall back on the bed, crying so hard that his stomach threatened to rebel. Soon the cry transformed into panicked sobs and incoherent, silent screams. Even lying still hurt. What had been done to him? Why did it hurt so much?... He blinked the cold sweat from his eyes and openly screamed, wishing that by doing so the pain would recede.

Tossing on the bed he was heard by Elrond and Glorfindel, who rushed through the door at the sounds. The appearance of unknown persons near, whom he didn't remember or recognize, drove Legolas to utter desperation and he started fighting to escape. Glorfindel received the first hit, the next swiftly followed as the Elf tried to free himself from the iron-like grip of the Imladris Seneschal. Totally panicked, he screamed in fright until he was gagged by a cloth wetted with a smelly herbal substance. In seconds he went limp.

"Well done, Glorfindel," said Elrond quietly, reaching for his medical pack left near the bed just in case. He took the blankets off the bed and pushed all the pillows on the ground.

"Lay him down" he said, patting the bed's surface.

"Is he…" Glorfindel started uncertainly, observing Elrond working in silence.

"I have no idea. But I wouldn't exclude the possibility that he is indeed out of his mind." Elrond sighed tiredly, inspecting the size of the self-inflicted damage. "This may be the effect of withdrawal also. He is under unbearable stress and the drug may influence his mind, so that he sees a very frightening reality around." Elrond sighed; he eyed his bag with medicaments and Glorfindel knew that he is reconsidering the healing plan now he had a confirmation that Legolas would have to fight the addiction as well.

"We need to get him and the bed cleaned. Will you tell Erestor to send someone to do it? I will tend to Legolas," Elrond finally asked, moving to pick the boy up. Glorfindel nodded.

"Do you need any help?" Glorfindel asked. Elrond declined the offer with a shake of his head and carried Legolas' limp form out to the bathroom.

Glorfindel glanced at the soiled bed and his own clothes. Watching Elrond and the blond Elf disappear around the corner, he wondered briefly why Elrond was so utterly convinced that the boy would eventually get well again. Even if he did so physically, the wounds inflicted upon his mind would be impossible to bandage, stitch or set. And in any case, they would leave scars.

When Elrond carried Legolas back to the room wrapped loosely in a big towel, Glorfindel was waiting with medical supplies and Neremiel was hurrying to pick the last pieces of the broken glass from the floor. Elrond smiled to her.

"Thank you very much. You did excellent work," he praised her and laid the broken body on the bed. Delicately reclining him, he saw with a corner of his eye the shock on the girl's little face, when her eyes slid over the thin, famished body. It was clearly visible which ribs were whole and which were broken. His hips were so unnaturally slim, with prominent, sharp hipbones. His arms and legs were just like sticks, the chest was almost hollow. And everything was covered with bruises, cuts and burns. Even his eyes were damaged – now they were closed, but it was visible that the eyelids were swollen and a lot of puss gathered in the corners.

"My Lord… will he… survive?" the girl asked quietly. Now, when she saw the real size of the damage inflicted upon Legolas, she was utterly terrified. "Just yesterday he was… he was walking and acting as if he was all right…"

"I won't let him die, don't worry," Elrond soothed. "But don't tell anyone about what you have seen. We don't need additional fuss around him and frightened Belithravien. I have enough trouble with Erestor who would like to help but does not know how otherwise than by worrying. Not even a word!" he warned, then gave her a last father-like smile and shooed her from the room.

Glorfindel had already begun to rewrap the bandages. His voice was grim, when he spoke.

"Why did he react this way? He knows us both, he knows we won't hurt him."

"I'm not certain. We have no idea how much he remembers and if he even knows where he is. Yet that kind of attack must not happen again. The wounds will not close while reopened constantly," Elrond muttered through the clenched teeth. Glorfindel took the bandage from Elrond's pack and came closer to the bed.

"What are you doing?" Elrond asked looking at his friend, who took one slender wrist of Legolas and tied it to the bedpost.

"I'm tying him up. How do you want to prevent him from hurting himself or us? You said yourself, he won't be coherent enough to understand we want to help him. If so, he will only see those who did it to him," Glorfindel pointed countless cuts and wounds on the pale chest under the thick bandage. "That's the easiest way." He sighed, doing the other wrist.

Elrond nodded and took the bandage from his friend; he wanted to be sure the bonds were not too tight. Glorfindel was a warrior, not a healer after all. The thin hand lying on the pillow and restricted with a white gauze looked so fragile. Elrond almost couldn't imagine how it was possible to clad it in a hard and unforgivable iron without breaking that delicate structure. Elrond closed his hand over it, trying to soothe, to help. And to defend.

/*/

A strange, thick fog veiled his tired mind. He was left in a strange place, where time had no meaning, where no daylight nor evening darkness could prompt him what time of day it was now.

He wasn't oblivious, though. It was, most of the time, a quiet and exhausted sleep: without a sound and without movement. In those short moments between waking and drifting off into another reverie he could hear sounds, feel a presence of someone, recognize the wetness on his forehead as a moistened cloth, laid there to fight with any fever he had. The presence disappeared sometimes. Then he thought he would want it back. Whatever it was, it had no intention to hurt him. Let it carry him to whatever end. For end should come quickly now, shouldn't it…?

Lying in that someplace he was in he came to a misty conclusion that it was soft here. The fabric under his cheek was warm, smelled of freshness and starch; the covers he was undoubtedly tucked in shielded him from cold.

Shadows were passing under his tiredly closed eyelids, sealed with half-sleep or incoherence. The pale light seeping from the left was cold and brutal, invading his sore eyes, sending needles of awareness into him. Not that. Not awakening. Back to oblivion, please, not awaking…!

At his whimper a merciful hand adjusted the blankets, so that he could hide his head in a fold. The light disappeared. Legolas sighed.

Then the time came, when he had to wake up. He couldn't force himself back to sleep. His body could not endure lying in one position any longer, thirst and hunger reminded him of the existence of the real world and the headache was getting worse. He tried to move for a start, just a small motion, to rearrange his legs. It was painful and tiring, his limbs heavy like iron. He could move easily only with his head.

He opened his eyes, and the light invaded mercilessly. For a while he could see nothing except painful shining from the window. Then shapes appeared: misty, blurred as if unreal; something slender, moving in a hypnotic rhythm, flying, floating in the air. This couldn't be real. The view behind the big window was blurred, containing only stains of different color, all bathed in amazing, divine light which hurt his eyes, but was eternally beautiful. That huge green stain on the left must have been… a tree? Huge tree, in vivid green… What was that cloud on the left?

Smoky, strange shapes which moved steadily in a waving trail resembled eerie, living beings, moving and dancing behind the clear glass. It was impossible for his sore eyes to recognize simple leaves. The rest of the view, buildings and the whole scenery, was too fluid to see, too blurred. Yet it was beautiful, glowing with the golden rays of sun. After a while another sense awake in him and he heard chirping of the birds. It was indescribable: he felt relieved beyond measure and enchanted with this joyful sound. There was a bright, sunny world somewhere out there…!

Legolas moved his head to the right, trying to take in the sight of the room he was in. It was quite cozy; strangely for a person in his position he felt calm and safe in here, where all seemed soft and warm. His eyes wandered back to the left.

He spotted a heavy, red armchair, just near his bed. The color was so vivid that he couldn't stop looking; he caught onto that armchair. He glanced at it like he would on a friend. The armchair meant someone was coming here, someone was interested, and he wasn't left totally alone. Someone cared.

And he wasn't dead, as he previously thought.

If I am not dead, then…

His beaten body and confused mind screamed for help inwardly. Legolas tried to move more, but he had no strength and the foreign, tight feeling on his wrists prompted him to think that he was tied up. Panic stung him. He desperately wanted to do something, but was unable to, immobile, blinded and helpless. He tried to speak; to moan, at least, only to voice his distress, that would help, that would help… But he discovered he was also mute, for only a weak squeal escaped his clenched throat. He lay still, for there was nothing else to do. But he could not come back to sleep either.

He could not take that. Fear arose in him, terrible scream and tears threatened to break free and Legolas waited for the moment the panic would become stronger than his weakness, for he would at least try to fight then. But his fatigue was greater than he thought. Frustrated and exhausted, he succeeded to articulate a strained 'please', but to whom he was speaking and what he was asking for he did not know.

"Peace, child," a warm, deep voice said and the vicious sunlight was blocked by a broad person, who came to stand between him and the window.

"Are you awake?" he heard the voice asking and felt the mattress being weighted down next to him. After a while he was able to see the one who spoke. It was a dark-haired Elf in royal robes, absolutely stunning, almost glowing with his inner light and power. He laid a hand on Legolas' forehead and whispered a few words in a language Legolas didn't understand. They brought him strange relief, however, arranging his thoughts in one coherent, calm question.

"Where am I?" he breathed, looking at the stunning Elf. The hand moved from his brow and raked through his hair.

"You are in Imladris, in the Elven realm of Rivendell. You had come here with guards and envoys of your homeland, Mirkwood the Great. I am the Lord of this valley. My name is Elrond." The Elf spoke softly and in an inviting tone. It had a calming effect, offered some knowledge. The soothing gestures held a secret promise of rest to come. Legolas was too tired and too resigned to fight now. The fear crawled unused into the corners of his mind, ready to spring free, but waiting for now, as if uncertain whether to strike or not. Imladris, he said…? Oh yes. That sunny place. The guards…? Moreth? What… what time it is, I would want to know…

Elrond's fingers moved on his neck and pressed the vein delicately. The Elf was taking his pulse.

"Do you remember me, Legolas?" he asked.

Legolas nodded. He thought he would have no strength to speak, but somehow he managed. "I do," he whispered, "My Master."

Elrond wanted to correct him now very badly, telling him he was no Master and his slavery was also past. But the Elf would not understand. There is no sense to mess in his head, Elrond thought, measuring the pulse finally. There will be time when he's better, stronger. Not now.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked instead. Legolas nodded tiredly.

Elrond took a glass of water from a tray somewhere out of Legolas' field of vision. He dipped his two fingers into it and delicately smeared the substance over his lips. Legolas licked the moisture greedily, feeling it spread sweetly on his tongue. It was not enough though and he left his mouth slightly opened, hoping for more water to come.

Elrond repeated the operation and felt Legolas' lips tentatively close over his fingers, catching the tiny droplets. Few more repetitions and Elrond stopped this painstaking way of watering the Elf. Legolas did not dare to ask for more, but his desperate look spoke volumes.

"Are you alright?" Elrond asked soberly. "No nausea?"

That question surprised Legolas. Why would this Lord care? He shook his head no and at that Elrond took a spoon. More of the precious liquid flowed past his teeth, but little enough to swallow without problem.

"Careful. Do not hurry and try not to choke. You will get as much water as you need, don't be afraid. Only be calm and swallow slowly, else it may come back up."

Elrond's words were steady and fierce, but did not sound like typical orders for Legolas' slave-trained ears. He obeyed naturally, pleasantly surprised at the kind speech and delicate movements. Slowly his throat stopped burning and he started to feel a bit better. He licked his dry lips once more; some water slipped unchecked to wet his cheek, but Elrond wiped it out. Finally the glass was put away; Legolas would want more, but seemingly the strange Master knew better.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, concern in his eyes. Legolas just stared for a while. He couldn't see well, so he blamed his eyes; he couldn't be seeing the frown of worry. He opened his mouth to give an answer, but he really didn't know what to say.

"I see," Elrond sighed. His hand returned to the blond head and rested there, playing with matted, knotted strands. Legolas felt he needed to know more, what was going on, why was he so weak. He knew he was overstepping his place, the long and blunt needles of fear were reminding him of that, but he had to know.

"What… why am I… how…" he sounded, trying to keep the conversation as long as he could, but no reasonable question came. Elrond spoke nevertheless.

"You are very ill, young one," he told him, stroking his head. "You were abused in Mirkwood. The road exhausted you furthermore. And this drug Moreth gave you – those brown leaves – it has ended and you couldn't endure any longer. You need help, Legolas," Elrond said slowly, looking his patient in the eye, checking if he understood. "I am a healer. I will help you. Everything is going to be alright."

Legolas closed his eyes and bit his lip. These news, even if only very general, must have sounded serious. Elrond wanted to tell Legolas what really was happening with him now, but knew this would cause a fit of panic dangerous even for his life. After all what happened Elrond was afraid that the poor heart, beating so unsteady at times, would not handle another shock.

Legolas must have sensed that the Lord was not telling him everything, but he just nodded in feigned understanding. His head came up again and he gloomily stared at the bonds on his wrist. Elrond noticed the glance.

"You are tied up not because of ill intentions. You were hurting yourself, so we had to prevent you from doing any lasting harm. I cannot untie you just yet. I cannot be sure you won't start to panic." Elrond's voice was gentle, but Legolas stiffened anyway. Was it so bad…? The enormity of this situation finally made it's way to his head and he felt his calmness draining out of him rapidly. He squirmed, feeling the upcoming tears, desperate not to cry, but failing.

"You're not going to die," Elrond said fiercely. "You are going to get well again. I am here with you. There is nothing to fear. I know it hurts, but endure a moment longer; there was a painkiller in the water. Just try to get back to sleep, Distract yourself. Everything will be alright, I promise. Tomorrow you will feel better." He laid a hand on his brow again and reached for a moistened cloth. He laid the compress on Legolas' forehead and delicately stroked the unhealthy white face. "Sleep. You need much rest."

Obediently, swallowing the tears, Legolas laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. The hand rested on the top of his head with an appealing coolness, clearing the thoughts and allowing him a moment of peace. He felt the sleep coming, as if seeping from that merciful hand. Lord Elrond's soft whispers and the cooling allowed him to slip into inviting darkness again.


	6. Don't leave me alone

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: Another cliffhanger.

Please review. I ask very nicely.^^

Chapter 6: DARKNESS. DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE

/*/

The following day was a bit better. Legolas woke up in the early morning, unsure of how long he had been asleep. As Elrond was busy with Glorfindel, the person who was sitting near his bed was little Neremiel. Legolas woke up to find her dozing off in a chair.

"N-Neremiel?" he whispered hoarsely, uncertain if she was awake or not. She jumped instantly at the sound of his voice.

"Legolas, you woke up! That is very good. How are you feeling?" she exclaimed, leaned in above him and straightened his hair.

"Better, thank you," he smiled weakly. Trying to move he found that he was still tied up.

"I will call Lord Elrond, I will be right back," she said quickly and almost ran out off the room. When she returned, the kind Elf Lord and the golden haired one from the council hall were with her. The one Legolas knew as his Master sat on the edge of the bed and examined him gently, murmuring a kind greeting.

"Welcome back to the conscious world, Legolas," he said taking his temperature and then the pulse. "You have slept long. I was beginning to worry, but as I see that was unnecessarily," chuckled the Elf Lord. Legolas lowered his eyes, not knowing what else to do.

"Well, how are you feeling?" the golden one asked, sitting on the other side of the bed. Legolas turned to him.

"I feel quite well… my Lord, thank you," he said politely as he had been taught.

"Glorfindel meant how are you truly feeling, Legolas," Elrond said lifting the covers and checking on the bandages. Some of them were bloodstained still, but the wounds had ceased to bleed seriously and only produced small, red spots on a white bandage surface.

"I feel… like passing out… and there is a strange feeling in my stomach," Legolas said quietly, suddenly ashamed.

"I suppose it's hunger," Elrond said quietly, "for the nausea should have disappeared by now. The drug has left your system permanently and you're clear." The Lord smiled briefly. "Neremiel, could you please bring a tray of breakfast?"

"Certainly, my Lord," she bowed and disappeared. Elrond took a well-known spoon and gave Legolas little water, which he accepted thankfully.

"You are at the edge of dehydration. You have to drink much, Legolas." His Master said with a following caress of his head. "And you are in a desperate need of nourishment."

He signaled Glorfindel to help him and reached for scissors to cut the bonds on Legolas' wrists.

"I need to change your bandages now," he said. "Let's see how is it healing."

Glorfindel reached out with his arms and without any effort lifted Legolas up into a sitting position. The Elf felt nothing at first, but then dizziness settled in and he kept thinking only about lying back again. He didn't dare to complain, however. The thought of eating something was a frightening idea too. His appetite was gone long before coming to Imladris, and he was afraid he would not be able to keep anything down.

"You are so thin, Legolas," Elrond muttered cleansing the wounds on his back. "I can count all of your bones, every single one. With so little fat you will quickly get bedsores… But we will remedy that," Elrond said calmly, content with the state of Legolas' wounds. "I know you are dizzy, just bear with me a while longer. I'm almost finished. Lean on Glorfindel until then, you can do this, really."

His hands worked quickly and with skill, rewrapping the chest from shoulders to waist tightly. Soon the blond Elf Lord lowered Legolas down again and he was granted a moment of relief when his head hit the pillows. He took a few deep breaths and opened his eyes.

"Thank you so much, Master, my Lord," he said quietly eyeing each one of them in turn. Elrond hushed him gently.

"You will thank me after I have healed you." he smiled. Legolas wanted to argue, but he had no strength. He just nodded and closed his eyes tiredly again.

"Try not to sleep yet," Glorfindel advised him. "You need to eat something first."

That alerted Legolas. He didn't feel like eating anything.

"Master…" the word slipped from his mouth before he thought better to shut it. Elrond gave him a questioning look. Knowing how much he could dare, Legolas spoke. "I don't think I can…" he stammered awkwardly, prepared for an angry reaction, but Elrond surprised him again.

"You have to eat to live and to get better. You just have to. You will not make it without nourishment, you haven't eaten for over two days." Elrond said patiently, lifting the covers and settling on changing the bandages on his lower body and legs.

"Two… days?" Legolas stammered. He counted in his head desperately and could not find memories of those days. "How…?" he asked quietly, more himself than the Lords. The golden one answered him nevertheless.

"That's right. It was before noon in last _Oranor_ (1), you walked to the stables and fainted. I carried you here, to Elrond. He discovered your injuries and understood you were taking a drug. Your reserve has ended, didn't it?" he asked gently. Legolas blushed crimson and nodded, suspecting the worst at that confession.

"You see, this drug has saved your life. Moreth saved your life in Mirkwood, giving it to you." Elrond joined into the explanation. "You were in too much pain to endure, and the infection would kill you in days if not for those leaves. But it's a potent, dangerous drug, Legolas. You ran out of it and not only the pain returned. You went through the withdrawal."

Legolas glanced at one Elf Lord, then at the other. He did not know how to react. He remembered nothing of what they were saying. It sounded unbelievable.

"That's why you lost consciousness, and why you felt so bad when you woke for the first time. You were abed for almost three days, it's _Orgaladhad_ (2). As I told you, you were still in shock and did not understand you are safe… so we tied you to the bed. So that you couldn't hurt yourself any more." Elrond ended.

He uncovered the rest of his body and laid a white towel on the level of Legolas' hips to cover his nakedness from view. From the involuntary sigh of relief he knew that made Legolas feel a bit more comfortable. He lifted his right leg and told Glorfindel to hold it for a while.

"Help me please, I will have a better access," Elrond asked. Legolas complied and let the healer cut the bandage on his thigh. This wound was still big and was healing slowly. It hurt, but not as much as it did before. Elrond delicately cleansed it and put more of the antiseptic salve on its surface.

"Don't be afraid." That golden one spoke again. His hands were warm, large and were holding his leg raised with perfect stillness. What was his name, Legolas had forgotten. "It's going to be all right. Elrond is the best of healers. And you are strong indeed. Now it will only get better."

Legolas nodded miserably. His eyes were teary and itched, so he clumsily tried to wipe the tears away. Elrond did it for him, using the edge of his soft sleeve. Legolas couldn't help staring at his Master at such behaviour; this wasn't normal, this wasn't normal at all. And yet, he was so past tired to care. The two didn't want to beat him. They were gentle enough, considerate. Legolas had no strength to spare, so he didn't let himself succumb to fear, which would drain him again.

Having changed all the bandages, Elrond brought a thin, white robe, delicate as mist, and put it over Legolas' head. The Elf was lifted and helped to dress, then soothed anew. Touching the silk with slightly shaking fingers, Legolas thanked sincerely; he had never been clad in something so luxurious. That was almost… improper.

The door creaked open and Neremiel came in with a tray of breakfast. There was a generous amount of porridge, herbal tea, some white, freshly baked rolls and two apples: it was the biggest breakfast Legolas had ever seen in his life. It all smelled wonderfully, but his stomach clenched painfully at the thought of eating.

Neremiel smiled at Legolas one last time before she was dismissed, closing the door behind her. That golden haired one, Glorfindel, if Legolas recalled correctly, helped him sit again and climbed on the bed, sitting behind him. That way Legolas had something to lean on. Although he was afraid, he did so, because all the strength he had left was quickly evaporating and a serious dizziness would not allow him to sit on his own. He could feel cold sweat pearling on his forehead already. Glorfindel wiped it away, using a moistened cloth, and repeated the action from time to time.

"Now," Elrond said taking the porridge and a spoon on his lap. "It's high time for your breakfast, I think."

Legolas squirmed in Glorfindel's hold and bit his lower lip as if he tried to seal his lips. He didn't dare to object again, but his fear - in best case reluctance - was clearly seen. Elrond just patiently waited for explanations.

"I just… I can't, I… I'm afraid I cannot keep it down," Legolas said, closing his eyes in shame.

"It's just porridge. There is nothing easier on the stomach. And I shall feed you slowly, in small portions. That way you should be able to keep it down, don't worry. Why are you so afraid?" The Lord asked, spreading a towel on Legolas' knees on top of the covers.

"I will never manage to eat it all, Master," Legolas said, fighting a wave of utter panic at the thought of the eminent punishment.

"You don't have to eat it all!" Elrond exclaimed. "It is much for a healthy Elf, and you are ill. Besides, I suppose that your stomach is much smaller than any stomach in Imladris. I can see that you are not used to eating much."

"I don't… have to eat everything?" Legolas asked hesitantly.

"Of course not. But eat as much as you can. We need you to get stronger." Elrond lifted the small spoon with porridge to Legolas's mouth. He opened up obediently, but took the food with reluctance.

The porridge wasn't a very tasty dish, but for Legolas it was delicious. He hadn't had a morsel in his mouth and only now he understood how direly he needed food. Elrond was patient and gentle as he fed him slowly. He didn't appear to be angry even when Legolas spilled some onto the towel, much to the elfling's relief. Glorfindel was silent, but held Legolas securely and cooled his brow now and then, which was bringing great relief. Truth be told, it was distracting to have the two Lords watching him so close. But still, spoon after spoon Legolas ate almost half of the small bowl and the tray was taken away.

After cleaning his face, Elrond repeated the procedure with coaxing Legolas to drink something. Elrond reached for a mug of tea and moved it near the Elf's dry lips. The young one was very thirsty and accepted the liquid thankfully.

"Better now?" the Elf Lord asked as he returned the mug to the table and refilled it. Legolas had been so thirsty that he drank it all. Seeing him still eyeing the mug, Elrond gave him more. Legolas drank in a hurry as if afraid the mug would be taken away from him. He began to choke as tea went down the wrong way.

"Not so fast, not so fast..." Elrond began. "I know you are thirsty but your lungs do not need the additional damage and you will make yourself sick. We need you to keep that food down, and there is always more tea."

The fair Elf nodded and licked his lips greedily to feel the taste and wetness again. He felt constantly thirsty. He glanced at the mug again, but without much hope he would be given more. His suspicions were confirmed when Elrond noiselessly whispered 'later', shaking his head.

"Now lie back and try to get some rest." Elrond said, reclining the figure on the bed with the help of his blond seneschal. Legolas sighed tiredly and closed his eyes briefly, but shot them open as he realized he was not given leave to sleep again; murmuring soothing endearments, Elrond gradually calmed the youngster down.

He raked a hand through the golden mane in a consulate gesture. "I will wait until you are asleep." He said. "It will get better now. I promise."

"Thank you… Master," Legolas stammered. Suddenly from the hand emanated the well-known coolness and Legolas almost willingly succumbed to the coming darkness. He embraced his oblivion with relief.

Only then Glorfindel tied him up again; Elrond was not entirely sure about this, as he wanted to gain Legolas' trust, but decided that the blond Lord was right. Leaving the stricken Elf alone, Elrond cast a glance on him. How deadly he looked.

/*/

Elrond came in the evening to inspect and examine Legolas again. The Elf lay in an uneasy sleep, tossing a bit. Elrond woke him, unwilling to let him live through another nightmare.

"Legolas, wake up," Elrond coaxed. "Wake up for me. Wake up," he soothed, stroking the blond head. Legolas' eyes snapped open; he blinked rapidly, jerked to escape the caressing hand, tugging on the bonds. He was clearly very agitated.

"It's only me, calm down," Elrond said, withdrawing his hand.

"M-master…?" Legolas asked, his voice breaking; he was still blinking and shaking his head like mad.

"Yes, it's me. What's wrong?" Elrond asked quickly, alarmed by his strange behavior. Legolas's eyes were darting around in panic, and although he had them open, he seemingly didn't know where Elrond was sitting. "I'm here," the Lord prompted, turning Legolas' face to himself. "What is it? Tell me."

"I don't see well," he stammered. "Only stains and shadows. I- I can't… I can't see," he mewled, trying to sit down. The bonds were holding him, however. Elrond burst into action, seeing the fit of panic coming.

"Legolas, stop moving," he said fiercely, pressing his hands to his chest to force him down. "Lie still or I will not be able to help you."

Legolas froze. He only shivered in barely restrained fear, when Elrond leaned and inspected his eyes. Just as Elrond predicted, only cleansing them did not help much; they were fiery red and full of thick, brownish puss. At the time Elrond saw it first he did not want to apply another antiseptic as it would collide with the other medicaments given to the Elf. He also hoped that the inflamed eyes would heal by themselves due to unusual Elven healing abilities aided by the other antiseptics, which affected the eyes as well. Unfortunately, this was not enough. Elrond sighed as he ended the examination. Holding the thin hand tightly he leaned to him and began to instruct.

"Your eyes are not damaged, it's only the inflammation and swelling. It will recede after but little of my help. I understand that you're scared because you cannot see. But you are safe, and no harm will come to you. You are safe and cared about," he said steadily. "I have to fetch some supplies to be able to help you. If I leave you and go to the other room for a moment, will you start to panic?"

Legolas trembled hard, but bravely shook his head no. Elrond knew he was lying, but now he had no other choice than to leave the Elf. He rose and assured him that it would take only a minute. He talked the whole time he was in the other room so that Legolas could hear his voice and know he was not far away, so that he had something to hold on to.

Elrond was back with a cup of herbal tea, a small flask with a blue liquid and a clean cloth immersed in a bowl of water.

"I'm back," he informed. Legolas sighed with obvious relief. Elrond took the cloth and first cleaned the inflamed corners. If was bringing great relief, as Legolas leaned into his touch and didn't even complain at the cold water. He was still trembling however, and his hands were clenched tightly on the bonds restricting their movements. His mouth was pursed tight, yet it only showed better the quivering and tiny grimace. It was not a grimace of pain. It had to be fright.

"I am here, little one, all is well… let me," Elrond said turning his face so that he had a better access to the other eye.

A desperate mewl, quiet, but in the same time more terrifying, slipped from Legolas, obviously against his will, for he bit down on his lips hard enough to draw blood. Before Elrond could attempt to soothe him, a strong shudder went through the Elf and he whimpered anew.

"I can't… I can't take it any more," Elrond heard the terrified whisper followed by a sob. He realized that this time he would witness the breakdown, for it was just too much. Legolas' face shrank visibly, the grimace deepened and he could not fight back the tears any more.

"Shush Legolas, don't cry, it's important," Elrond in hurry tried to think out something, anything to distract him enough to calm him down, but to no avail. "Legolas, don't cry, you're undoing my work. And remember, it can only get better now…"

"It won't! No, no, please… Master, I don't…"

"Shush now. Open your eyes, I have to apply a medicament. Open your eyes," Elrond ordered a bit harsher, hoping that this would bring the Elf under control. He dried his eyes. Legolas complied, forcing himself to be still, if anything only more terrified at his Master's risen tone. Using the tiny wooden stick, Elrond applied the drops to the first eye with the fluid he had prepared. Legolas tossed and jerked violently, giving out the startled sound; the feeling was unpleasant enough to make him lose his composure. He closed his eyes shut, cringing as much as he could in his present position, totally confused and scared to the core. Nothing that Elrond said or did calmed him down.

"Legolas, it's alright, it's alright now… lie still. Come now, control yourself," Elrond hoped to do the other eye, but Legolas struggled further. That he couldn't move was only adding to his distress.

"It's for your own good, and you know it," Elrond said, trying to sound reasonable. "Legolas, little one, calm down…" he muttered without much hope, yet seeing this was not going to work, he laid the utensils back on the table. Well, it was inevitable.

"I can't! I can't…" the Elf sobbed, thrashing no less than before. "Please, don't do it… don't, just leave me alone… What, what do you want from me? Why are you keeping me alive…? The useless slave is killed, that's the first rule! Please, please… I want to die, please… make it stop, make it stop…! Why do you torture me by keeping me alive?" Legolas actually screamed, choking on the words.

Elrond let the Elf go. For a moment he did not know what to do with his hands, so he just settled for massaging his brow, as he always did when nervous. Glorfindel and Erestor rushed through the door at the screams, but did not intervene as Elrond gestured them to keep silent; they just watched as Legolas tried fruitlessly to free himself, sobbing and writhing restlessly on the bed. No one spoke a word; the two at the doors only glanced at each other with horror. For a moment, just a brief, tiny second, they had a withering impression that Elrond looked defeated.

Legolas stopped moving gradually. His strength was leaving him bit by bit, making him lie limply. Although he could not see, red dots found their way under his eyelids. Finally, resigned, he gave out the last broken sigh and sniffed loudly. All he was able to do was panting. Heavily.

"I am useless to you. That is the first rule, a useless slave is killed, why don't you do it?" he repeated faintly. "Please… just… end this pain…"

Elrond and his advisors went mute. They knew that sooner or later such an outburst would appear; it was so frightening and frustrating to be at someone's mercy. Any Elf, blessed with immortality and flawless health, should ever be brought to such a state of mind and such degradation. It was unimaginable to be unable to move and too weak to even eat by himself, as a result of abuse from the hands of his own people.

Lord Elrond was speechless. It wasn't much to say, after all. He suspected that a warm touch would calm Legolas somehow, but he was afraid that it would cause another fit of panic. He didn't want to speak first, for he would have to react at this heartbreaking plea, and that was beyond any possibilities.

A long time Legolas just lay, strong shivers wreaking his body and his heart beating frantically, struggling like a bird would in a cage much too tight for it. The three was observing him soundlessly. Something huge has just happened. Something has broken in this fair creature, something disappeared into nothingness, leaving an empty place. How desperate must he have been if he yelled at his own Master? He didn't expect anything else but the immediate execution, or maybe a punishment hard enough to kill him, only slower. This is a brink, Glorfindel thought. He has nothing left. No strength, no thought, no memory, no will. If something does not happen now, he will just…

"What have I done," Legolas sobbed suddenly, fear creeping into his voice. "What have I done… Master… are you here…? Please don't go…"

"I am here." Elrond whispered, taking his hand in his. "I am here, little leaf."

A sound escaped Legolas's mouth; a choked sigh, resembling a mewl. Relief washing over him was so great that he felt lightheaded. Feeling that Elrond leaned to him and embraced him carefully, Legolas didn't flinch; he subconsciously accepted, trying to get closer to that embrace, to draw comfort from it. He found no strength in himself even to pray in thanks. How could it be, he couldn't understand, but this Master, kind and merciful Master was holding him, stroking his head in a steady pattern, accepting him, understanding.

No rejection.

"Calm now?" his Master whispered. Legolas nodded.

Elrond knew that the sooner he tended to the inflammation, the better, but he couldn't just proceed when all this happened. Holding the terrified, haunted creature close, he was whispering straight to his ear a soothing stream of comforting words. They were meant only for him to hear. Legolas was still shivering, but was too tired to panic again. Resigned and stunned with relief like after a hit in the head, he surrendered to the attention Elrond was giving him freely and sighed deeply. In the air he smelled the scent Elrond's hair had and felt the warmth emanating from his Master hovering above him. His knowing hands cradled him securely. Suddenly he felt he had to apologize for all he screamed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Elrond. The Lord shook his head.

"Do not be. There is nothing to forgive."

"I am sorry."

Elrond caressed the youngling's furrowed brow. He only sighed, as there was nothing wise he could tell him now.

"Can I tend to your eyes now?" he asked after a moment of silence. Legolas nodded, too resigned to fight. Elrond wiped the eyes and cleansed them once again, then took the blue vial and the stick for the second time.

"I have to apply the drops to your eyes once more. You cried all the drug out. I know it is unpleasant, but please, force yourself under control." A grimace appeared again, but Legolas bravely opened his eyes and let Elrond do what he needed to. He hated the feeling of a drop of oily liquid falling into his eye and blinked madly after each apply; Elrond let him do this, as this was even better. The blinking spread the medicament all over the eye's surface.

"The worst is over," the Lord said soothingly. "Now, I made a special tea for you. You won't drink it, calm down. It's the leaves which are important. I will wrap them in small pieces of gauze and lay upon your eyelids, then I will have to bandage your head, unfortunately. That way they will be in place so the herbs can do their work. In the morning we will see how it is healing, alright?"

This short plan sounded reasonable. Legolas did not know how he would ever cope with the inability to see for those long night hours, but he was ready to endure it. Elrond was gentle when he laid the small bundles on his eyelids and then bandaged his eyes, creating a headband.

Now the most difficult part was coming. He was to be left alone. Almost subconsciously, working on its own, his hand reached for Elrond's sleeve when he was taking his hand out of his hair, but met only air. Terrified with his own boldness, Legolas froze; his movement didn't remain unnoticed.

Yet Elrond surprised him once again beyond possibility to understand. He cut his bonds, pulled Legolas up and let him cling to his robes, to hide the bandaged head in the broad chest. Embracing Legolas tightly he whispered soothing words about all possible things the fair Elf could do when he was well again. He whispered about trees, waterfalls, mountains with hidden caves, lakes full of fish and the crowded market down in the city. He spoke about birdsong, about the taste of the summer's first wild strawberries and of billion of flowers blossoming only in the evening.

Legolas clung to his Master for dear life. He was his only anchor. As was showed, Legolas was frightened right out of his mind at being blind. Elrond petted the tearstreaked face, wondering what had traumatized him so much. What had Mirkwood done to him that he hated the darkness so much and was petrified at the mere thought about it.

Elrond delicately stroked the hands clenched on the front of his rich robes. Legolas' grip was so tight that his knuckles whitened. Elrond shook his head.

"The darkness cannot have you, my little leaf. I am here and I am not going anywhere. Your eyes are healing. Let your mind rest now, just listen to what I say." Elrond coaxed. "Personally I think you should go to find an old oak in the western part of Imladris, behind the gardens. It is unbelievably big. I wonder if it is older than Imladris itself? It could have been a high tree already, when we were erecting the first buildings…"

/*/

The night outside the window was steamy. The very air seemed to hang unmoving in the space, embracing each thing, every blade of grass, every tiny branch, every delicate carving of the wooden balustrade of Glorfindel's balcony. The atmosphere was heavy. In all possible means, for the two sitting near the wall on the floor was mournfully passing the bottle of wine from one to the other and saying nothing, their mood as dampened as their skin.

"I don't know how he is doing this," Erestor spoke first. "I wouldn't handle him. This was terrifying."

"You know, he will behave in this way for the moment," Glorfindel said after a while. "He is… to say it delicately…"

"Knocked out."

"Yeah. That's the word."

They sat in silence, taking comfort in the presence of another and the bottle, being emptied systematically. Glorfindel was faintly beginning to worry what would be when the wine runs out, but he counted that he had something left yet in his clever hiding place behind a bookshelf.

"He won't probably sleep tonight." Erestor mused.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, not quite knowing which one it was referred to.

"Elrond. He won't sleep tonight. He will look after him."

"Sure."

Erestor sighed impatiently.

"I'm trying as I might to provoke the conversation. Do I have to be brutal?" Glorfindel glanced at his companion. "What if the boy dies?"

The blond Lord shook his beautiful head. "No, the threat is gone now. He will…"

"It is not gone and you know what I'm speaking about."

"If he fades like Celebrian, Elrond will… bugger. The history likes to repeat herself." Glorfindel rubbed his brow at the mere thought at the pain it would cause. He could almost feel the load of grief and baseless self accusations coming closer and closer to his best friend. _He couldn't save her, he couldn't save him. A bad healer. A bad husband. Selfish in his wishes. Devoid of love and deservedly so…_

"Bugger, bugger. What do we do?"

"And what can we do? We can only care for the Elf and help Elrond. Take over much of his duties, so that he can take the time. And do not break down. So that he can break down when the time comes and collect himself later using our support."

Erestor nodded and gulped down the rest of the wine.

"I don't know how is he doing this. Legolas is… after such a scene I am exhausted, mentally. And as you said, there will be more of that."

"Elrond is a healer."

That sentence included all Glorfindel needed to say.

"You haven't been yourself lately, you know?"

That question froze the blood in the famous veins for a second. Just a second. Then it started to circle again, quite normally, and Glorfindel wondered how on Arda his voice could sound so steady.

"I'm just tired, Erestor. And I am mentally exhausted, too."

"You going to be alright?"

_No, I'm not._

"Sure."

/*/

It wasn't possible for things to go that swiftly and easy as they went from that point, but, surprisingly, they did.

Legolas woke the next day showing obvious signs of fatigue, weariness, blood loss, dehydration and the last remnants of infection, but with no fever. He was calm and coherent. He asked for water, much water, ate what was brought for him, bravely endured changing the bandages. He was so exhausted that he fell asleep after that immediately. But he woke after two hours, asked for water again and then stayed awake another hour. His wounds were healing slower than they would on any other Elf, but they were healing properly.

All night he slept quietly and without waking once.

The next day looked similar. Waking up, water, change of bandages, a light meal, sleep. And again, again and again until that recovery circle stopped and Legolas for the first time sat by himself on the bed. Elrond found him like that, leaning on the bedpost, sitting as comfortably as the bandages and bindings would allow, looking in the window direction. It seemed like he had awoken some time ago and was waiting patiently for his Master to come.

The bandage which tied his wrists and ankles to the bed seemingly wasn't needed any more. After the last fit of panic Legolas went strangely still and calm, agreeing on his fate and everything Glorfindel or Elrond wanted to do to him. This indifference worried Elrond somehow, but he saw no symptoms of depression or fading. Finally the Lord relaxed; he understood that his patient was too fatigued to stay awake through most of last week, and so slept off the worst physical and mental pain that withdrawal would cause. For this one blessing he was immensely grateful. The fits of panic ceased and Legolas became more stabilized as he understood and accepted that Moreth's drug will never again be used on him. Elrond explained why he must never again allow the drug to enter his system and the Elf seemed to understand; if he wanted to plead for the magical medicine before, he abandoned the idea due to this knowledge and out of genuine fear of his Master.

But generally Legolas appeared a lot calmer, at ease with all circumstances, accepting his Master's touch and obeying his will in everything. If he was scared of something, he only trembled, lying with wide eyes and following every move of the healer's hands; but never once he dared to object.

He also never allowed himself to call someone, even if he was badly thirsty or very uncomfortable, he waited with singular patience until someone found it fit to check on him. Asked why he never called anyone when he needed to, he answered that he wouldn't dare to disturb. This wasn't convenient at all, for Elrond must had been guessing all probable needs of his patient and checked on him twice as often as he should. If he was constantly glancing in the water direction, that meant he was thirsty. If he avoided his Master's eyes and tensed on the bed, keeping his knees together, he probably had to be carried to the bathroom.

Elrond suspected that this passive resistance came both from fear and trust. Fear – for he was uncertain still if he won't get punished or yelled at if he demands someone come and help him drink. Trust – for he suspected that if he waited long enough, he would get what he wanted, assuming from the kindness surrounding him as far. He tested his new superiors to check how much they will allow him. And Elrond let him do it. It was understandable that this creature wanted interest and care without asking for it. And it was more than understandable that he was afraid. Elrond felt it only proper to be the one who cares for this creature now, after a long life of abuse and hurt, since the fate brought Legolas to Imladris in all too obvious fashion. It was like screaming to Elrond's ear: 'he is given to you, you take care of him'.

Legolas also wanted to be at least tiny bit more self-dependant. He waited until Elrond or Glorfindel went out of the room to cover himself more or change his position into a comfortable one. The healer was glad, these attempts to crawl back into life were precious. He decided to take the risk and take the bonds off. That gave Legolas more freedom.

And he used it immediately, for as the visible, obvious obstacle disappeared, he found it proper or even among the line of an unspoken order to try to get up. At first he had no strength and all he could do was to sit down or lay back again. But he could drink and eat by himself and lie on his side, which was a more natural position of his sleep.

What he wanted the most, however, was to be able to visit the bathroom by himself, with no one looking at him or holding him. He simply couldn't cope with this: even the most shameful of actions weren't spared from audience. Elrond explained and reassured, but for naught; being an Elf, clean and covert by his nature, and being a slave, embarrassed and afraid, he prayed for his strength to return even if only for these short times when Elrond was carrying him, wrapped in a bed sheet, to the clean, white room.

That was precisely why the next breakdown had to appear. This time it was Glorfindel's due to watch over Legolas and Erestor came down to call him. The Lord was just heading upstairs, when Legolas decided to try and get to the bathroom.

He wasn't able to stand up at first, but the determination was still big enough to carry him. The disaster came a bit later, for before he even managed to walk out of the room he lost all his strength and fell on the floor with a dull thud, having no support or something to hold on to. The pain blinded him for a moment, throbbing in his ribs, head, thigh and the ankle, blocked breathing and deafened.

After it passed, Legolas began to crawl. Few more meters and the dizziness became constant, too strong to handle, the pressure seemed to cleave his skull in two and blood flew out of his nose, staining the floor and his white sleeping gown. There was no way to cover this deed. Shaken by sudden panic, he just fainted.

Legolas woke in the bathroom at the water which splashed on his face and neck. Opening his eyes he saw Lord Glorfindel hovering above him and shaking his head worriedly, but with a smile.

"How come," he said, "you always faint on my shift."

Legolas froze. He didn't know what to do.

"Don't worry, nothing happened. I have cleaned both you and the floor. It's alright."

The Elf struggled to sit up on the cold floor and found he was naked, so he curled as best as he could to cover himself. The movement drained him. He realized that he didn't want to pee any more. Great, he thought, simply wonderful, just… just great! The first tears appeared unwelcome, and he wiped them away roughly, with anger. _Now how could I?_

"If you feel better, I suggest to return to bed," Glorfindel said quietly, wrapping him loosely in a big towel. "Don't cry. Nothing happened, really. I should have been there earlier. My fault."

Legolas turned his watery eyes to the mighty hero who has just said it was _his fault_. Seeing the look Glorfindel laughed sadly. "Yes, that happens sometimes, when apart of my brilliance I fail at something." He met the typical stare of an abused horse, resigned and full of grief. No point in trying to light up the mood, then.

"I know how difficult it is for you, little one." He said with empathy. "But you must listen to Elrond when he says 'no getting up'. You are simply still too weak. Promise me that you won't try to get up without someone watching over you. You have earned a few more bruises, nose bleeding, faint and aggravated ribcage by this escapade. Your word, Legolas."

"I swear. I am sorry, so sorry, I really…"

"Shush now. I hold you to your promise, it's all right now. There," Glorfindel delicately stored him on the bed and helped to dress in a new gown. "Here you go. Now, I won't tell Elrond, so please, stop crying."

Legolas indeed stopped from the shock.

"He wouldn't be angry anyway, but to make you feel better I will keep my mouth shut. Sounds better?"

Legolas laughed nervously and nodded through the tears, wiping them away with the top of his hand. He apologized and thanked in turn, not knowing what to say, both relieved and ashamed. Glorfindel dismissed his embarrassment with the explanation and assurance that there was nothing shameful or disgusting in him, for he was just a very ill Elf, who as for his state was really doing well. Soon he dragged him into a light conversation, as Legolas wasn't sleepy. That dissolved the tension, for Glorfindel managed to make the Elf smile shyly once or twice.

Elrond saw the two in the middle of that conversation and just stared at them for a moment, pleasantly surprised. Legolas was responding quite normally, having his head down, true, but he was smiling. Smiling, Valar! And he was asking something from time to time. A wonderful sight to behold, indeed.

"What had happened to my floor?" Elrond asked some time later.

"Nothing serious." Glorfindel smiled knowingly. "Only, Elrond…"

"Yes?"

"Let him stand on his own and tend to himself in a bathroom. He will manage that minute alone. This is really too hard on him."

Elrond nodded slowly. "My mistake," he said quietly.

"No, our mistake. I should have been here earlier, but I got indulged in a talk." He smiled bitterly. "But you know, he will be better soon. He's quite an interesting Elf, as I assume from that short talk. He's by no means stupid or unintelligent."

"Yes, you're right. Only he's too scared to speak."

"Maybe I will bring him a light, humorous book to read, how do you think? To kill the time. Don't give him anything of yours, for it will antagonize books to him," he laughed.

Yet the book, when it appeared on Legolas' nightstand, was left untouched. Only sometimes the boy took it in his hand and admired the picture on the cover, staring at it with sad eyes full of longing.

/*/

Legolas quickly got bedsores after being confined to bed for longer than he supposed he would ever be. Sleeping became a problem and so did lying still. Even if he tried to hide it, Elrond found out easily and had to apply special balms and ointments to his patient's upper back, thighs and buttocks. This wasn't pleasant for the little Elf. He lay quietly, his whole body rigid, forcing himself to endure the slow, circle movements of Elrond's hands. He was trying as he might to avoid laying on his stomach and fought to move the pillow away from his face as far as he could. This arouse questions. Questions which demanded an answer, yet were impossible to sound out.

Elrond couldn't force himself to ask if Legolas had been raped. He thought he knew the answer. He only counted that it had not happened repeatedly, he hoped that this child wasn't turned out into a toy for betters to use. He suspected that Lathronios supposed him to carry on with this abuse, but Elrond couldn't force himself to ask what role he was intended to play in Legolas' life. He could imagine the reaction.

However, Legolas started the conversation himself; maybe not directly, but one evening he asked about his uncertain future, trying not to tremble too much from dread at the answer.

"What will happen with me now, Master?" he said wearily. Elrond stopped arranging his utensils in the medical pack and looked at his patient vigilantly.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"I mean… what have you decided to do with me now, Master?"

Elrond frowned. So the time came to start this conversation. Maybe it was a good thing, too.

"Actually, I wanted to speak with you about it, only you were much too fragile. I wanted you to get better first." Legolas nodded, feeling a sting of unease. Now he would find out his fate. He trusted this strange Lord, his new, weird Master, who wasn't like any he knew. Still, he feared him, for the mere authority was enough for Legolas to cringe under his look. Maybe this will not be as bad, he tried to tell himself, maybe I will only stay with him. Being so considerate a healer he would not make one a whore of Imladris, wouldn't he…?

Elrond could sense the inner turmoil in his patient and wondered at its source, for he had done everything possible to show the Elf only gentleness and care. He decided to start cautiously and appear as calm as possible.

"Could you answer me a few questions first?" he asked and the Elf nodded twice. "Alright. Your answers may give me the knowledge I need, for I'm not entirely sure I understand everything what happened in so short a time. For you see, I was given an unusual gift." Elrond smiled, observing Legolas' eyes. They held only well taught obedience.

"First. You were a slave in Mirkwood, that is obvious."

"Yes, Master."

"For how long?"

Silence. Legolas glued his eyes to the wall before him and obviously counted something.

"I… don't know." He said finally, very quietly. "My whole life. I don't remember time without slavery. But I don't exactly know how old I am."

Elrond stared.

"You don't know?" he asked. Legolas confirmed. "Wait, wait… you were kidnapped and enslaved, am I right?"

"No, Master. I was born in Mirkwood."

Elrond processed that thought in his head. Countless obstacles arose in his mind, but he dismissed them one by one. Without proper information he could solve no problems.

"Tell me about your parents." He demanded.

Legolas squirmed. His eyes rested briefly on his patient Master, but then bore into the covers as he started to nervously fold the fabric on his lap in tiny ruffles.

"My mum… died giving birth to me. I don't know much. About my father… for he left her… with me… he was exiled from Mirkwood. He…" Legolas swallowed thickly, then glanced at Elrond again. He was aware in what light this story was presenting him. "…he was a criminal, Master. I don't know anything else, no one wanted to tell me."

"So who took care of you?" Elrond asked gently.

"I remember many women. From the kitchens, mostly. I spent much time in the kitchens. They fed me, they dressed me. Especially two… Red Titinne and the cook, Maerwen. I had many mothers."

"Red Titinne?" Elrond asked, surprised. Legolas nodded.

"Everyone called her thus."

Elrond sighed. "So you have never known normal life." He said quietly. "Small wonder you react this way. It all must seem unbelievable for you, isn't it? This bright land, no slaves around, me acting like a merciful druid, right…?" He smiled bitterly. Legolas' confusion reached its peak now.

"Yes, Master. I don't understand it at all." After a while of hesitation he dared to add: "It's not normal, Master."

"Oh, but you are wrong. This is perfectly how the other great Elven realms are functioning. We do not adhere to slavery, not in Imladris, nor in Lothorien, nor anywhere else. There are no slaves in Imladris, Legolas. This rule includes you." Elrond said.

Legolas' face remained blank for a while, but it was quickly replaced by a look of horror. His face shrank and his eyes widened to their limits.

"You are… you are sending me back, Master," he whispered. "You won't keep me. You don't want me. You will send me back, right?"

Elrond was close to panicking himself, for another hysteria would surely end in a disaster for this little creature. He wanted to reach for the thin shoulders and pull him close, but stopped in time, for Legolas wouldn't take it smoothly.

"No, no, no, I would never send you back," he said quickly. "Not to Mirkwood! Not after what they had done to you. Calm down, Legolas." The Elf sighed and nodded, rubbing his flushed face with the back of his hand.

"So… then…" he started, without looking at his Master.

"…then we have to discuss what to do now. The first and the most important thing is, as there is no slavery here, you are not a slave anymore." Elrond met a dumbfounded look. "Let me explain. You are free. No one can decide about you, save yourself. You can go and do as you wish. No one can threaten you, or order you to do anything anymore. You have no Master. You are your own Master now."

Legolas bent his head and glanced at Elrond tolerantly.

"But… what will you have me do now, Master? How do you want me to serve you?" he said.

"Have you heard nothing of what I said before? Lathronios gave you to me, but my wish is to free you. Legolas, I signed the document ensuring your freedom, you are legally free, you are not a slave anymore!" Elrond exclaimed. Legolas gave him a blunt, unyielding look.

"I… am not…?" he stammered eventually.

"Yes." Elrond smiled. "First you have to get well and gain some strength, but then you can go where you want to." he said, reaching to stroke the blond mane, quite pleased; delivering these news was not so hard, he concluded. He couldn't be more wrong.

"Free?..." Legolas stammered with effort, as if in deep shock. The news should have made him happy, Elrond thought. So he was in unbelievable surprise when tears appeared in the blue orbs along with a deeply frightened expression on the pale face.

"Legolas…?"

"What will happen with me now?..." he said, his lips quivering. "Where should I go? What should I do? I don't… don't know…"

Utterly dazed, Elrond found the quivering shoulders and gave them a consulate squeeze.

"All is well… You can stay here if you want, you don't have to go anywhere, I am not throwing you out!" Elrond said and Legolas immediately raised his eyes.

"Here?" he repeated, dazed. "May I?"

"Of course you may. You will get better, I promise. Then we will find you a room to live in and a work to do. Maybe in the stables, I heard you like the horses. There is nothing to fear, I will take care of you, elfling."

"As… my Master?" Legolas asked, with a hopeful note in his voice.

Elrond froze. He couldn't believe how much this Elf was beaten down into submission and now he did not know what to tell him.

"Not as your Master, as your protector." He said eventually. "I will see to it that you're well and taken care of. No more beatings, no more threats, no more famine, no more…" he hesitated. "You will be safe under my protection."

"That means… you will be my Master." Legolas nodded. He seemingly caught this one last thought he knew and understood, interpreting the reality to the purposes of his slave-trained mind, unable to gather and understand everything at once. He tried to hold onto the secure truth of being someone else's property, for he had no idea what to do on his own, being left in the huge world. It was all too much and too quick.

"That only means I will take care over you." Elrond whispered tiredly. "But I cannot give you orders, I cannot punish you, I cannot treat you like those in Mirkwood did. Do you understand?"

Legolas gave him another blunt look and shook his head.

"No, Master, I don't understand it at all," he said truthfully. "I don't know why you would care about me, Master. But… thank you for the permission… to stay here. Thank you, Master, thank you…" he grabbed Elrond's hand and kissed it before breaking into tears again.

"Shush, don't cry," Elrond renewed the rocking. "Ssshhhh. It will be all well, little one. What do you not understand? It is all clear now and nothing more to fear."

"I cannot understand why someone would treat me differently than before," Legolas sobbed. "I'm not worth it. I'm just a slave. Besides, there is nothing for free. What will I have to do to repay your kindness, Master?"

Elrond's heart sank. He desperately wanted the Elf to understand, but at the same time he knew he could not explain it, he had to show it. And it required time.

"I am not like Lathronios," Elrond said, settling for stroking the blond head. "I am not mean. I do not enjoy inflicting pain and suffering."

Legolas whimpered instead of an answer. The Lord cuddled him closer, stroking and petting him until the sobs subsided and the tears dried. He repeated all over again and again that everything would be alright.

Elrond meant it; he could see that this cry was just a display of confusion and being lost, then of relief at being held in the arms of a protector. It was a simple, sweet act of releasing his emotions. There was no hysterical note in this cry, no spasmodic struggling, only searching for comfort.

Soon he will be better, Elrond thought. This is just a matter of time.

(1) (2) I couldn't just say Tuesday and Friday, could I?^^ I stick to Sindarin. An Elvish week has six days, each dedicated to another deity. Other names of days in sindarin: _Orgilion, Oranor, Orithil, Orgaladhad, Ormenel_ and _Orbelain (Rodyl)_. Quenya: _Elenya, Anarya, Isilya, Ald__ú__ya, Menelya_ and _Valanya (T__á__rion__)_. Appendix D in RoTK.


	7. Of rumors and consequences

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: Mature audience please. This chapter contains a mean slash scene and a mean Elrond. Such a gratis.

Please review!

Chapter 7: OF RUMORS AND CONSEQUENCES

/*/

Time really did its work and after a miracle of saving Legolas' life it improved both his physical well-being and his state of mind.

The Elf was able to stay awake almost whole day, dozing off only for short naps and eating more and more. Elrond was glad. Soon the bandages could be taken off permanently, except those securing his ribs, and bedsores weren't troubling Legolas anymore. The fever broke long ago and only a dark memory was left after the infection. His eyes recovered their clear blue depth, his skin was milk white again, not transparent in sickness. Legolas was well on his way to a full recovery. He even requested a second helping of a dinner one evening.

Imladris' bright, hot summer was in its peak. The trees were livid green, whispering to one another with their hundreds of leaves. Flowers burst into bloom to decorate the valley. The soft song of waterfalls was heard in the evenings. With such beautiful weather, staying in a small room was tiring and Elrond knew well that his charge was staring longingly through the window for hours at that time. When he had been too weak to stand he had to please himself with an opened window only, but as his state was improving considerably, the Lord promised his patient he would be able to go outside very soon. These news were truly wonderful for the poor woodelf. He longed for a contact with nature since he has been locked beneath the cold stones of his homeland fortress and finally his wish would come true.

Elrond decided Legolas was strong enough to be given a proper, long bath, so one day in the evening he carried him into his own baths, much more private and comfortable than the ones downstairs. Legolas was skittish, but he allowed to be tended to, especially when there was no Lord Glorfindel around. The blond Seneschal didn't emanate so much with authority like Elrond did, and he seemed not as powerful as his liege, but Legolas still feared him more than he feared Elrond. The physical strength Glorfindel possessed and showed might have been the case; it was not so clearly seen in his Master's frame. Legolas knew very well that it was there, but it was hidden under the long robes, a delicate smile and gentleness of his wide healer's hands, which touched only to change the compress or to stroke, nothing else. Legolas have learnt to trust these hands.

"Come, I prepared everything," Elrond said happily and scooped Legolas in his arms. The Elf weighed far too little still, but he at least started eating something more than a porridge or a thin broth.

"Master, I think I can walk, don't trouble yourself over me," Legolas tried. Elrond just shook his head and sighed at the Elf's impatience.

"You have been hospitalized for only three weeks," he said gently. "It is still too long a way to the bathroom to consider letting you walk there on your own. Not after all the effort I put into dragging you back to life again. You could fall and hit your head, causing a concussion or worse."

Legolas worried his lower lip, as always when he wanted to know something. Elrond urged him to speak.

"When will I be allowed to walk alone, Master?" he asked quietly.

"When I see you are strong enough to stand up without dizziness and make it to the door." Elrond shot the youngling a glance. The will to fight and to survive gladdened him.

They entered the bathing chamber and Elrond seated Legolas on a carved wooden bench. The tube was already filled with warm water; small clouds of steam were lingering in the air and the pleasant scent of soap entered their nostrils. Elrond put a few towels within the easy reach, along with a white, soft bathrobe, a tray of soap and some bottles with strange liquids. Legolas observed him as the Lord shrugged the outer robe off and rolled up his sleeves.

"Come on. We will get you thoroughly cleansed," Elrond smiled and at Legolas' hesitant nod he unwrapped the sheet he was tucked in delicately, but without fearsome hesitation. He had to act as normally and impersonally as he could not to scare Legolas away. The Elf tensed anyway already and his breath became more frequent as his poor, startled heart started to beat faster.

The pale form was shown, with jutting ribs and fading, yellow bruises over skinny limbs. On Legolas' back and chest the wounds transformed into scars, clearly evident as they were even more pale than the skin. It was still difficult to look at Legolas without pity.

The Elf tried to stand on his own. Elrond let him, but remained near nonetheless, holding him protectively under his armpits to prevent the possible fall. His change of place made the huge mirror on the opposite wall reflect the pitiful creature Legolas currently was. One look in the glass made him stop and stare at his reflection, the expression of mild surprise on his face. He said nothing for a long time, scanning every inch of flesh.

Brainwashed he could be, but he could still tell the difference between beauty and ugliness. His appearance was far from nice. Modest and beauty-loving as every Elf, Legolas felt a burning taunt of shame. He wouldn't look like this if he behaved better. He wouldn't be so ugly if he had not been a slave. And yet he was – and standing near the stunning Elf Lord he felt a painful disproportion, placing himself so much lower in the hierarchy. It was not proper at all that such a beautiful, ethereal being as Elrond would look and tend to such an abomination.

Legolas' eyes dropped to the floor direction. No wonder he does not hurry with demanding pleasure service, Legolas thought half-bitterly. With someone like me…?

Legolas sighed, pretending he examined his injuries. "It's not so bad, Master, I really can start walking alone," he muttered at Elrond's questioning gaze. The Elf Lord shook his head thoughtfully.

"Come, standing is tiring you and we have work to do yet." With that he led the youth into the water, paying attention that he didn't slip on the floor.

Legolas was afraid that the water will be cold, but he was surprised again when he found breast deep water hot and relaxing. Elrond's hands disappeared tactfully, which gladdened Legolas much. He was handed a white sponge and a bar of soap. Elrond turned to take the other one from a cupboard, leaving his charge alone for a minute. Legolas lathered the sponge and lifted it to his arm, then started rubbing.

More from a habit than from the actual need, he rubbed so hard that the skin reddened under the harsh treatment. He didn't stop, only increased the pressure and opened the abrasion further, using his nails as the sponge was rather soft. He didn't really pay attention to what he was doing, fascinated with the white marble stone from which the pool was made; the way the droplets fell from his wet fingers and left a glistening trail before they met the water surface. The observations didn't hamper him from tearing his skin further until a strong hand caught his wrist.

"What are you doing? You are hurting yourself! Legolas, stop at once!" Elrond exclaimed, seeing the fiery red skin. Legolas glanced upwards in surprise, then looked at his arm and realization dawned on him.

"Give me the sponge, Legolas." Elrond demanded. The Elf obeyed immediately, feeling his cheeks going red; he didn't know what he was doing, this was just a habit… but even if he tried to explain, Elrond wouldn't understand. He doesn't have to understand, he doesn't have to cope with… being tainted, Legolas mused. He cannot know that harsh cleansing brings relief in pain, be it a handful of pebbled sand or a few young sticks. It mattered if it scrubbed well.

Elrond sighed heavily above Legolas and started to coat his shoulders and back with the soft foam after brushing his hair out of the way. The Elf trembled under his touch. Elrond noticed that; he understood that he was afraid both of his wrath and his touch, not exactly knowing which one was worse. Elrond gritted his teeth. This couldn't transform into a traumatic experience.

"Legolas. Look at me," he requested and saw a pair of frightened blue eyes rise. "I am not angry." He said simply. "But don't do that again. Hurting yourself further won't help you recover, neither physically nor mentally."

For a moment Legolas wondered how on Arda did he know. But then, he surely knew. He was a powerful Elf Lord. What was poor Legolas thinking? He lowered his eyes sadly and braced himself for the attack. Praying for his voice not to fail him, he started speaking.

"I am sorry for my actions, I will never do that again. I request punishment, if it is your will, Master," Legolas whispered the well taught phrase but was silenced quickly.

"You are not a slave anymore. I am not your Master." Elrond repeated maybe for a hundredth time.

Legolas raised his eyes shyly.

"No punishment?..." he asked surprised.

"No punishment," Elrond repeated, shaking his head. At times like this he could hardly believe in the Elf's sanity.

Elrond reached for the first bowl he placed on the edge of the pool. It contained strange mixture of herbs, leaves and flower petals. He took a generous amount of them and threw into the water. A pleasant scent filled the room immediately, as the herbs became soaked with the warm water. Legolas inhaled deeply; he felt his head clear and his breathing ease.

"_Athelas_," Elrond smiled. "With a hint of lemon. My favorite. Do you like it?"

Legolas nodded. He did not know if the scent was the cause, but he felt himself relaxing bit by bit as Elrond's hands worked to make him clean again. Next he was lifted and seated at the edge of the pool, so that Elrond had a better access to his body; under the watchful gaze of his protector Legolas cleaned himself alone, daring not to put any more pressure than absolutely needed. Praising him and soothing quietly, the Elf Lord lowered his charge again into the welcoming warmth. Then the blond hair was wetted and washed carefully.

"Wipe the water out of your eyes," Elrond advised giving the younger Elf a small towel. Legolas complied immediately, while the Lord reached for the other flask standing on the edge. He uncorked the bottle and poured its contents on Legolas's head, then massaged it into his scalp.

"It's a conditioner. Your hair is in a bad state; it needs some help to recover properly," Elrond murmured. "We shall take care of it later as well, once it is dry."

Legolas would have liked to stay in the welcoming water a bit longer. The hotness and the scent were making his muscles relax and the tension built in them was dissolving. The hot steam engulfed him in a warm cocoon; his tired and stiffen limbs finally felt warm, his skin felt softer to the touch, his eyes automatically closed in pleasant surrender as his body went limp, surrounded by a healing warmth. And it was really great to be so thoroughly clean once again, after being only washed in bed. It wasn't even close to as bad as Legolas feared, his Master being careful and considerate enough. Strange as it was, it wasn't scary to be naked and washed by him.

Elrond smirked knowingly, as he saw Legolas recline in the pool a little. He told him to lean forward and attempted to knead the tense shoulders and back; the slow massage elicited a low, content sigh from the Elf, who was simply unable to stop it. It felt so good.

"Better now?" the Lord asked, still smirking. Legolas whispered his thanks in response. Elrond took his time; he supposed that Legolas would be afraid of the bath, but as it worked so miraculously and made him loosen his rigid composure, he wanted to prolong the moment of relax. The skillful massage worked well on the poor body. Mindful not to make it too strong, Elrond tended to the tense muscles, knowing well that Legolas must have been suffering from the pain in his back and nape after lying so long in bed. Unfortunately this couldn't have been helped.

After a longer while Elrond embraced his charge from behind and immersed a hand in the pool.

"The water is going cold," he said. "Come now. Time to go out."

Legolas complied reluctantly. When he attempted to stand up, sudden dizziness came in a way so overwhelming he had to lean on Elrond not to fall over. Familiar red dots returned to his vision and he felt very, very weak.

"M-master… I am dizzy…" he managed to whisper before slipping on the wet stones and hanging limply in the strong hold of the other Elf's arms. Elrond lifted him up and laid on a bench.

"Hold on, it's alright now," the Lord repeated holding the fragile hand tightly. As the blood came back to Legolas' head he felt a bit better, but was unable to stand up again. Elrond dried him quickly, clad in a white, soft dressing gown he had prepared before and quickly carried Legolas out to lay him on the bed. Once this completed, he opened both windows in the room and returned to his charge's side.

Legolas smiled weakly. He was deathly pale.

"How are you feeling?" Elrond raked a hand through the wet hair.

"I'm fine, Master," he assured. His vision once again focused.

"It was hot in the bath, the air was steamy, and I lifted you up too quickly," Elrond said. "And the scent added to your dizziness. You are simply still weak," he explained. Legolas nodded, albeit reluctantly.

One of the weirdest things about Legolas' new Master was that he allowed, or even expected him to _talk_. Now Legolas could feel the vigilant eyes on him again, waiting for some sort of response.

"When will I get stronger, Master?" he dared to ask hesitantly. "I… want to finally be able to tend to myself, to stop being troublesome." He muttered.

"Patience, little one. Soon. And you're not troublesome, never think that; there is no shame in needing help once in a while."

The cool air flowed through the windows, carrying the sounds of night filled with chirping of grasshoppers. Elrond closed one of the windows, and left the other slightly open.

"You must be sleepy," he grinned when Legolas yawned.

"No… don't want to sleep… not yet," the fair creature mumbled shyly with a face buried in a pillow.

"I noticed you are constantly weary lately. On which hour did you fall asleep yesterday?" Elrond asked, removing the somewhat damp bathrobe gently. Legolas stiffened, so he stopped his administrations, awaiting the answer.

"About two in the morning, Master… I think," Legolas admitted, lowering his lashes. Elrond snorted.

"How are you planning to recover and get stronger while you deny your body the much needed rest?" he scolded mildly. "Why have you stayed so long?"

Legolas bit his lip, reluctantly settling for the truth. He didn't want to share this with anyone, but he really didn't want to displease Elrond.

"The nightmares are haunting me, Master. I… don't want them to come. And they are not present only when I'm not asleep," the blond explained, closing his eyes in shame. Elrond spared him a long, saddened glare.

"I heard you screaming two days ago," he said quietly.

Legolas didn't know where he was to look. His eyes just betrayed him, sadness and guilt evident in them. His hands clenched on the edge of his blanket, and cheeks went slightly red.

"I'm sorry, Master. I didn't want to wake you."

Elrond smiled sadly. "I am watching over you. No nightmare shall come while you are in my company" he offered, stroking the fair head. Legolas yawned again, much against his will, and smiled thankfully.

"Thank you, Master," he said and allowed to be stripped off the bathrobe and covered by the blankets. "But they usually come late in the night, when… you are long gone." He whispered.

Elrond shook his head with an unreadable expression.

"This night you will have your sleep assured."

When about midnight Elrond was waken again by the sounds of crying, repeatable mutterings and pleas to stop, he got up with a fierce certainty, went straight into Legolas' room, tucked the blankets around him tightly and carried him out to store on a soft couch in his own bedroom. Legolas didn't say a word, didn't make a sound swallowing the salty tears noiselessly. Elrond lay in his bed casually and covered himself with a light, silvery blanket, then closed his eyes and sighed, a most normal of content sighs before falling asleep.

Legolas sniffed quietly and buried himself deeper in the warm nest of blankets. He just let his tears dry. Sleep was creeping up to him, misty and impalpable like fog; he let it overwhelm him, glad of his Master's protection, uncaring whether he wakes tomorrow to realize he had been taken or just wakes up in peace.

/*/

Legolas awoke to the soft caresses on his head. He recognized the wide hand at once as one belonging to his new Master. He opened his eyes lazily; he had a dreamless night of blessed peace.

"Good morning, Legolas" Elrond said. "How was your sleep this night?"

"I had no dreams," the Elf mumbled with his mouth still in a pillow. "No dreams at all." He grinned delicately, then tentatively moved his shoulders and shook his head to wake up.

"I have a surprise for you today," Elrond said. Legolas's grin disappeared immediately and the thin body stiffened.

"What surprise, Master?" he asked, obviously dreading the answer. Elrond sighed.

"A pleasant one," he said. "There is nothing you should fear. But first the breakfast," Elrond moved back so that Legolas could sit up and handed him a plate with sandwiches. Warm milk was served this day instead of tea. Legolas dared to smile again as he saw the full glass. He liked milk.

"As I thought, your hair recovered a bit of its shine," Elrond noticed, observing the Elf. Legolas stopped eating and reached for a lock of his hair; for him it looked the same as always, but he could feel it was much softer to the touch. "And there is one more thing which should please you," his Master continued, "The bruise on your face is gone."

"It faded?" Legolas asked, touching his cheek.

"It disappeared," Elrond corrected. He took the small mirror from his pocket, brought especially for Legolas to see the difference, and held it so that he could see his reflection.

"Gone," Legolas repeated, a smile forming on his lips. "Finally gone. I thought it would never disappear."

"You're so impatient, little one. I told you it would be so." Elrond smiled at the sight of the empty plate. "You are healing remarkably well as for…" he hesitated, and Legolas looked at him curious. "I mean, you are healing more like a human would. You need more time and stronger medicines. Besides, you can feel the cold, and you are not glowing almost at all. This is typically human feature, even if you are unmistakably Elven. That are the last things left to worry me, but I suppose you simply need time and care. So don't worry." Elrond smiled, hoping the youngling will believe this half-truth. He did, for he nodded and attempted to get up.

"I want to take care of your appearance this morning. Did you get enough to eat?" Elrond asked, helping him.

"Yes, Master." Legolas nodded and disentangled himself from a heap of soft blankets. Elrond smiled and helped him out of the gown he wore to sleep, then showed him a thin, white robe with delicate embroidery near the hem. Legolas shyly touched the fabric, amazed at the softness of it.

"Do you like it?" Elrond asked. Legolas was too moved to make a sound, so he just nodded.

The robe fitted Legolas well; it was loose, but not overly. The long sleeves covered the remaining yellowish bruises. Legolas looked definitely better.

He was picked up and carried out of the chamber. Legolas recalled he was brought here yesterday night after having an especially nasty nightmare; he didn't resist when Elrond came in the middle of the night and moved him to his own bedroom. Now he felt no need either.

After the morning washing he was seated comfortably on a chair in front of Elrond's desk. Before him stood a mirror in a carved wooden frame, which had not been here before. Elrond stroked Legolas' head delicately, then put some items on the table before him; a brush, a comb, and a pair of scissors.

Legolas glanced up uncertainly. Elrond was smiling kindly, seemingly having no ill intentions. He took the scissors and ran a hand through the knotted, braided anyhow hair.

"I think we need to cut your hair, Legolas." Elrond said. The blond Elf turned to him with utter panic in his eyes.

"Cut it… all?" he asked, terrified, lifting his hands to his head and grabbing a fistful of fine locks on each side, as if trying to protect it. He eyed the scissors with fright. "But… I have no lice…" he mewled.

Elrond stared for a while in disbelief.

"Of course you don't," he said slowly, reaching to uncurl the fists from Legolas' hair. "I don't want to shave you. You look lovely with long hair. I only intend to make you look better." Legolas glanced up hesitantly. Elrond was expecting an explanation.

"I thought… because… in Mirkwood slaves are shaved to… avoid dirt and…" he said quietly.

"I cannot imagine situation in Rivendell which would require shaving Elves in order to avoid lice." Elrond said calmly, but coldly. "This is no Mirkwood. You weren't, aren't and won't be treated the same way. No one will." Elrond waited with proceeding until Legolas nodded in understanding. "Have you been shaved before?" he asked, undoing the rough braid Legolas's hair was made in until now.

"Twice, Master."

Elrond sighed and squeezed the tense shoulders in a consulate gesture. "But in your last days of stay there, I mean in the dungeon… you weren't shaved. Why? "

"I… don't know, Master," Legolas said truthfully. "Even if I knew, I can't… can't remember why."

Elrond sighed sadly. Probably because they didn't want to give me a full picture of the cruelty they are capable of, Elrond thought. Or maybe they wanted to save his good looks, as he was intended to be my…

Elrond cleared his throat and dismissed that thought. Instead he settled for gentle rubbing of the arms he held to soothe the Elf before him. Finally he returned to his hair.

"Alright now. Listen, it is badly damaged and matted. Look at the ends, just like a worn out broom. I have to cut the knots out, otherwise I will never straighten it. And if we cut it a little, it'll have more strength to grow back and rebuild," he explained. "Maybe… here, I shall cut it at the level of your shoulder blades. Alright?"

Legolas nodded and looked down. The gesture didn't go unnoticed, because Elrond saw it in the mirror.

"What is it, little one?" he asked.

"A bit… short," he confessed. Elrond sighed.

"I know, Legolas. I know. But it will grow back to as long as you want."

The knots came out first, cut away and thrown on the stone floor. Then a comb straightened the pale strands and finally Elrond cut them bit by bit to a proper length. Legolas glanced at his hair falling on the floor to form a small heap. Not exactly knowing why, he felt a will to weep.

"Relax," the Lord muttered. "I shan't hurt you. Tell me if I pull," he offered.

Legolas nodded as much as he could under the brush, which replaced the scissors. The feeling in itself was surprisingly pleasant; Elrond's hands were gentle and he paid attention not to hurt him when undoing the rest of the smaller knots.

"Here you go. It won't be long now, Legolas, I will braid it for you and then it will be over." Long fingers entangled in the blond mane and nimbly made two small braids on both sides of his head, to prevent them from falling into the eyes, and one solid braid at the base of his neck.

Despite the cutting part, Legolas decided he liked the feeling of Elrond's hands in his hair. It was simply pleasant. He almost regretted it when the hands were moved away after one last stroke on the perfectly braided hair.

"Now look. How do you like it?" Elrond asked, encouraging the young Elf to look in the mirror.

Legolas glanced up. The Elf who was staring at him from the mirror was strangely more beautiful than the old Legolas; he had milk white skin without any bruises, his eyes seemed bigger and more blue in the full sunlight and his golden hair, trimmed and braided, nicely framed his face, which was no longer a grimaced mask of pain and suffering. In addition, he was dressed in white. He looked…

"So pure," Elrond said suddenly. "A picture of innocence you are." And he chuckled kindly. "Legolas, smile. Don't you like what you see?"

Legolas sighed and dared a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. "I do like what I see, Master. Thank you very much," he whispered.

"You are a very nice sight to behold. Just wait, you will be more beautiful than any Elf in Imladris," Elrond said merrily as he cleaned the table and then the floor. Legolas shook his head; it was highly impossible for him to ever be as beautiful as the Elves he met here.

A sudden, quiet knock sounded at the door and Elrond called to enter. Lord Glorfindel appeared in the room; Legolas jumped on his seat when the famous hero came straight to the spot where he was sitting and assessed him.

"Oh, look at you," he said in awe. "Is it really the same Legolas who came here three weeks ago? You look stunning!" He said, crouching near the Elf on the floor and looking at him as if seeing him for the first time in his life.

"Thank you, my Lord," Legolas said lowering his eyes modestly.

"Do not be so shy," Glorfindel smiled. "Raise your eyes. Yes, like that," he patted his arm and stood up. Elrond approached and they both smiled at him, admiring the sight before them. Legolas really had no idea how beautiful he looked and felt only unease instead of contentment; he was almost writhing beneath the two gazes. Elrond noticed that immediately and cleared his throat to make Glorfindel look at something else besides Legolas.

"Alright, little one. I promised you a surprise this morning, remember?"

Legolas nodded without looking up; he only tensed further. Elrond leaned to scoop him in his arms and met a feeble attempt to protest.

"Maybe I could… stand on my own…?" he asked barely above a whisper. Elrond hesitated; he put Legolas down and allowed him to stand, but after a few steps the feeble legs refused to carry him and he swayed dangerously. His Master stopped him and lifted into his arms.

"See? Not yet. But don't worry, we will begin exercises shortly. You are getting stronger," he said. Legolas obediently encircled Elrond's neck with his arms at the Elf Lord's silent sign. He panted slightly and his head was spinning a bit. But still, few days ago he could not really sit down on his own.

Legolas was torn out of these thoughts when he saw Lord Glorfindel opening the balcony door and realized he is being carried towards it.

"Would you like to go outside, Legolas?" Elrond asked, unable to hide a wide grin at the lights of hope that lit in the blue eyes. The Elf nodded frantically, searching for a permission in his Master's eyes, and when he saw it, he actually smiled. He smiled with gratitude and emotion, so that a cute dimple showed in his cheek, what made something stir deep inside Elrond. Glorfindel smirked at the sight.

When they entered the round balcony, the sun almost blinded Legolas and he hid his face in Elrond's robe. When his eyes adjusted and he glanced up, he saw Imladris in all its glory: the whole hidden valley, surrounded and secured by rocky mountains. From Elrond's balcony one could see much more than from the ground. The view seemed unreal, like a very beautiful, detailed painting; the only difference was that this _was_ real.

Near the railing a daybed was placed, now covered with pillows and sheets, specially prepared for the young visitor. Elrond gently lowered Legolas down on the bed and let him sit and stare at the sights before him.

His eyes were wide open, as if he tried to see as much as he could and register everything at once. His mouth were pursed tightly now, while a minute before they were slightly agape. Legolas' head slowly turned to the side, his eyes devouring the sight presented to him. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself and regain his normally submissive, well-trained composure, but to no avail. Soon he was blinking rapidly to fight the tears threatening to spill both from emotions and because he was keeping his eyes open so widely.

"The trees…" he uttered quietly. He was looking at the rich, thick forests covering the mountain slopes. Then his eyes darted to the left and he sighed. "And a waterfall," he said with unhidden amazement.

"And there's another one," Elrond prompted, pointing it with a finger. "And another. And one more," he smiled at the expression on the Elf's face.

Suddenly Legolas spotted something and leaned to the balustrade. On the other side of it the huge convolvulus was climbing up the wall, using the wall's recedes to support its stems, heavy from the huge amount of leaves and flowers. Legolas spotted one of these flowers: a large, star-shaped, white flower with dark pink stripes coming from the centre to the edges of the fleshy petals. He lifted his hand to touch it, but then hesitated; finally, very slowly he bent the stem to be able to smell the scent.

Elrond sat on the bed with his charge. He was so proud of his land now, the magical sights resembling those from fairytales.

"This is beautiful," Legolas whispered and returned to staring at the high mountain tops surrounding the valley. Elrond eased him to lie down, covered the Elf with a blanket and smoothed the pillows beneath his head. Legolas smiled gratefully, looking at his Lord.

"You must call me if it gets too hot for you. The sun can be vicious in midday, especially for you" Elrond said.

"You are most gracious, Master," Legolas whispered, reaching for the wide hand resting on top of the covers and bringing it to his lips. He kissed the palm thankfully and took a deep breath of clear air, smelling of forests and unbelievable freshness, the mix of pine and ozone. It was so good to be there, to be able to see all this wonderful things, to come into contact with nature for the first time since what seemed like eternity.

"Remember to call me," Elrond said and left Legolas alone on the balcony. The Elf was too mesmerized to notice that his Master was gone. He listened to the voices, the noises coming from the courtyard and the stables. He could see a few Elves standing there, when he leaned over the balustrade.

"…ordered me to carry it to the armory, I can't talk now, mates!"

"But you will come with us for some fishing this afternoon, right?"

"I will. Why won't you drop by to my place on the way? Mum made a cake."

"Definitely! Give her our love. We'll come at… five in the afternoon, alright?"

"Alright! I'm waiting!"

"Hey! Will your sister be at home?"

"You stay far away from my sister!"

There was laughter during that talk. Legolas couldn't remember any of the Mirkwood slaves talking in such a merry manner. All the time he had an impression that they shouldn't speak so loud, or even hide to talk; a guard could always approach and punish them for such openly cheerful behavior. When he saw Lord Glorfindel walking briskly towards them, heading to the stables, he almost called a warning. But Glorfindel only smiled at them; they bowed and exchanged a few words with the mighty Balrog Slayer, totally at ease. Legolas could not suppress a gasp in wonder.

Glorfindel looked in a direction of the pale, blond figure leaned over the balustrade of Elrond's balcony. He smiled and waved a hand to Legolas, who almost hid behind the railing at the gesture. Glorfindel only laughed at him and patiently waited until the youngling shyly returned the gesture.

It all was too beautiful to be true. But in this moment Legolas could not force himself to be suspicious any longer. He could not help relaxing and smiling to the world surrounding him. He could not make his body tense any further in the anticipation of an attack. He surrendered. He surrendered to the pleasant feeling of being warmed by Imladris sun.

/*/

Some time later Glorfindel returned to Elrond's study to find his friend drowned in a lecture of some kind of a medical book. Various jars with dry herbs were left open on the table before him, and he was muttering to himself while reading.

"Elrond." Glorfindel smiled. "You are talking to yourself again."

"Oh?" the Lord lifted his eyes from the text and raised his fine eyebrows. "I didn't realize. You were in the stables, I deem?"

"Yeah."

"You spend a lot of time there recently."

Glorfindel shot his friend a look. Elrond wasn't looking at him, leading a finger through a white page covered in tiny lettering.

"What is so fascinating about this reading that you can't pull away?" he asked finally.

Elrond straightened and eyed the herbs before him.

"I am combining a new medicine." He said. "Something which would help for Legolas' nerves. He is not sleeping well, nightmares are haunting him and I wish he had more nightly rest, which is sufficient for his mental well-being. He does not feel safe enough, his submissive behavior is just a well taught mask. Under it he is unprotected and vulnerable, terrified even more than we suspect. Can you imagine how it is like to live in a state of a permanent alert? Being cautious not to earn a blow, not to disrespect, not to forget saying 'Master' at the end of each sentence? No wonder he cannot sleep. His mind produces terrifying visions as a result of this stress."

"So you want to drug him?" Glorfindel asked. Elrond spared him a cold glare.

"Basil is hardly a drug. Underestimated, but works. I want to ease his sleeping, that's all. The rest will soon come by itself. He… began to trust me, I think." Elrond sighed.

"Indeed," Glorfindel smiled. "He does trust you. More than anyone, I would say. The way he shies away from my touch, even from mere looking at him is disturbing. While in the same time he allows you to tend to him in every way you wish."

Elrond didn't say a thing. He walked over to the balcony door and leaned on a wooden frame. Legolas was probably asleep, as the light of day chased away any nightmares or bad thoughts and allowed him some undisturbed rest. He wasn't left alone in the darkness and relaxed enough to let himself be unguarded.

"I'm worried about him, Glorfindel."

The blond Seneschal pretended not to know what is Elrond speaking about.

"He is healing, the threat is gone. You don't have to worry, my friend," he said in feigned merry tone. He exaggerated. Elrond snorted at this comment and sent him an icy look, easily detecting the façade.

"He is healing, true. But not like an Elf. A normal Elf would be running swiftly after three weeks, without any painful side effects. Legolas is still too weak to stand. He needs medicines I usually give to Men. At the beginning it took me some time to deduct that light antiseptics suitable for Elves are not enough for Legolas. He would die if not the drugs I have from the human healers. He still feels the cold. It is not just an accompanying inconvenience, he can feel the cold, it's constant and as natural for him as not feeling it for you and me. Does that mean he can fall ill like a human would? Suddenly run a high fever and cough, if he gets a chill..? More, he isn't glowing, Glorfindel! His light is inexistent, I cannot see it. I cannot _feel_ it. How long will he endure? You know very well that he is fading. And by that I mean that this child which sleeps peacefully over there is slowly, steadily _dying_."

Glorfindel pursed his lips tight. "It is not said. He may still fight it. He may succeed. His will to survive has proven itself before, did it not? If he does not succumb to grief, then…"

"There is no cure to stop fading and you know it."

"This is fatalism."

"This is mere truth. He is fading. We will lose him soon. I will lose him…"

Glorfindel sighed impatiently. He just couldn't stay silent and considerate any longer. "Elrond, you speak so, because you lost Celebrian. That's the only reason. It is you who is grieving."

Elrond froze. His eyes slowly rested on his friend, and were ice cold.

"What do you suggest…?" he asked in a dangerously calm tone. Glorfindel knew he has overstepped the unspoken border. Now there was no way but to go forward.

"I say that your medical judgment is influenced by mourning and a bad experience after the previous such case. You have almost said out lout: 'I will lose him _just like her_.' Celebrian decided to sail over the Sea, caused by fading, but it was her decision. Legolas is not the same, he is not her. He doesn't have to die. It just doesn't have to be the same! He doesn't have to fade just because you couldn't save your wife. And besides, this was not your fault! It was her choice, not your…"

"As much as I respect you and treasure your friendship. Don't you say a word."

Elrond was pale. He didn't look at Glorfindel, staring straight ahead. His jaws were clenched tight and it was clearly seen how angry and touched he is. This was still too fresh a wound, festering inside him, poisoning him and his thoughts. Glorfindel shut his mouth, but had no intention to say sorry. Someone had to finally voice it.

"I loved my wife. I don't love Legolas. He is my patient. She was my beloved. Don't you dare to show me similarity, for these two cases are totally different." Elrond said slowly. Glorfindel sighed.

"And yet your experience influences your sight. And you immediately grew so fond of him, so caring. I saw you that worried last when Elrohir fell from the horse as a child and went unconscious. You do care for Legolas as of your own son and don't say it's not so, for you see it yourself." The Lord said in much softer, delicate tone. Elrond's face relaxed a bit.

"Yes, I am fond of him. I cannot understand the evil done to him. I would do anything to make him forget and live normally again, to… repay, to make up for all he had been wronged. But he is dying on my hands." Elrond closed his eyes and shifted his body weight from one leg to another, agitated and dispirited.

"He may not die. It is not said. Can't you see that his state is still improving? Were he really fading, he wouldn't get better at all!" Glorfindel said, yet the reason wasn't reaching Elrond now. "Elrond, if you give up hope on him, he will die more surely. He needs help of strong people around him, he needs support and friendship, tender care! If we surrender now, he won't stand a chance. He has not given up. He fights. You must help him in this. You are his anchor, for Elbereth's sake!"

This seemingly stirred the Elven Lord, for he rested his eyes on his friend. Glorfindel was unpleasantly surprised to find much more grief and still fresh anger in them than he had imagined he would. Slowly they both walked back into the room.

"And I think you should say something to the royals." Glorfindel said, desperate to drag Elrond away from the dark ponderings and lead his energy into something more palpable. "I hear unpleasant rumours. They wonder where this… as they said… woodelf plaything resides right now, as they are curious at the reason of his disappearing."

Elrond's eyes flashed in fury. "They think I keep Legolas in my room for _that_ purpose?" he exclaimed. "I haven't heard anything comparably mean in a long time!"

"I know your temper, Peredhel," Glorfindel smiled, laying a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Easy, my friend. Easy."

"You know," he started hesitantly, wishing to pursue the topic a little more. "The royals are whispering, because the whole situation was highly equivocal. And they are aware that you haven't taken a lover for years by now. Imladris' Lord is lonely… and they had a folly thought that you could use an easy escape which a pleasure slave provides. Don't get mad. Lathronios surely intended to plant a seed of distrust and discord between us." Glorfindel said. "And I am worried about you too."

Elrond rolled his eyes. His hands moved automatically to clean the mess on his desk, but from the involuntary glance towards the balcony the Seneschal understood that he is considering what to say.

"Glorfindel, just look at him." He snarled finally. "Beautiful and hopeless, and so submissive. They broke him well and undoubtedly taught how to serve. He is a walking temptation to any man in sight who prefers males. But I wouldn't! It's just… no… Glorfindel, no, this is awful to even think about!" Elrond raised his tone suddenly, causing his friend to move back a little.

"Not 'walking' maybe… but as you said." The golden haired Noldo smiled, then sobered anew. "Don't care about the rumors. They are tempted themselves." He smirked.

"I know, _mellon nin_. Thank you."

/*/

Elrond gently scooped Legolas in his arms. The Elf woke up and struggled wearily, but as he recognized his Lord he surrendered and let his head support itself on Elrond's arm.

"You were supposed to call me when you're weary or it gets too hot," Elrond scolded.

"It was not too hot." Legolas muttered.

"I have objections. And you are too weak. It's high time to go inside and sleep."

"P-please… a while longer…" Legolas asked, shifting in Elrond's arms to see the outside world again.

"Legolas, not today. You're exhausted. There will be more days. I can take you out any day if you'd like. How about tomorrow? You don't have to hurry," Elrond said as they entered the room. Legolas' eyes gone wide.

"I… I can go out tomorrow?..." he asked.

"Of course, little one." Elrond sighed. "Tomorrow and every other day. We will start regular exercises very soon and you will be able to go downstairs, to run freely on the fields, you will go to the forest and see the lake. There are many streams as well. You will go wherever you like."

Legolas said nothing for a long time. Elrond carried him securely to the bed, tucked him in and stroked the fair head in a well-known gesture.

"It can't be happening," the Elf Lord heard suddenly. He stopped his hand and glanced at Legolas questioningly. "It simply can't be true. But everything seems so real… So very, very real…" the Elf muttered sleepily.

"Legolas, you are cared for and on your way to get well again. There is nothing unbelievable in this." Elrond whispered. "Sleep, little leaf. You are weary."

"Yes, Master," the Elf muttered, burying his face submissively in the pillow. "Thank you, Master. My Master…" he whispered affectionately. Elrond wanted to protest, but somehow he couldn't. Legolas grabbed his sleeve when Elrond was reclining him, and now refused to let go. Already asleep, he clutched to the hand of his savior, as if afraid that he would disappear and leave him to his nightmares. Elrond watched the fatigued figure on the bed, immediately asleep, limp as a rag doll when he delicately pulled his hand away. Thoughts swarmed into his mind.

/*/

Elrond's chamber lay in darkness.

It was silent and still in there; the dark, late evening has already sealed everyone's eyes with sleep or closed them to privacy of their own rooms. Here, in Elrond's study, it was no different. Elrond was seated in his own, safe nest.

The big, round chamber, used as a living room, was perfectly tidied and welcoming. Windows were covered with deep burgundy curtains, embroidered richly in the corners. Balcony door on the left were open, so that the air and chirping was let in, yet no lace curtain moved, as if there was no wind. The two corridors on the right were closed and no light came there, so that the library and the bathroom were both forgotten and wrapped in dark. The healing room lay hidden behind the small door, now empty and sterile. Candles were burning steadily only in the main room, where Elrond was sitting in his armchair, sipping lazily the best wine of his vineyard. The Lord was reading a book, absent-mindedly turning the pages.

He was waiting for someone.

The awaited person knocked to the door soon, hesitantly, quietly.

"Enter," the Lord called, putting the book aside. The door opened and a slim figure of a blond Elf slipped into the chamber, carefully closing the door behind him on a metal bolt and a key; the Elf trotted to the place Elrond was sitting, knelt before his armchair and offered him the key. Elrond took it and hid in the drawer of his desk.

"Legolas," Elrond murmured contentedly. "My beautiful. I see you bathed."

"Yes, Master," the Elf whispered. His hair were a little damp and intensively smelled of soap. His flawless, milk white skin under Elrond's hand was unbelievably smooth, pale as moonlight over the delicate cheekbones and the elegant pillar of his neck.

Neck which was locked in a leather collar.

"I grew impatient waiting for you." Elrond said. "Go to my bedroom and light the candles. Prepare the bed and come back here. Be quick," came the order and Legolas obediently rose from the floor to complete the task. Elrond's bedroom was situated at the very end of the chamber. A few marble stairs covered in a rich carpet led to another room behind an elegant arch in the stone wall. Huge bed was placed in the centre, guarded by the two high candelabras, each having at least twenty arms, ended with a wide, white wax candle. Legolas dutifully lit every one, then closed the window and the drapes, uncovered the bed from the heavily embroidered cover and returned to his spot at Elrond's feet. All the time Elrond was watching, already undressing him with his eyes.

"Good boy," the Lord smiled, when Legolas knelt in front of him again. "Good, obedient elfling. Come here." He pulled his slave forward by his shoulders, reaching for a hungry, demanding kiss, too forceful to be considered pleasant to the young captive, and yet too possessive to object. Elrond heard Legolas whimper, for he had no support, but wasn't allowed to hold to his Master to remain upright.

Elrond's hands started gently, by trailing lazy patterns on Legolas's shoulders and back. His mouth abandoned the kiss and travelled through the cheek down the neck. The royal nose nuzzled the cruel device and breathed in the scent of his prey mingled with floral soap and leather.

"Hold still," Elrond growled, when Legolas tried to find a bit more comfortable position. His hand returned to the blond head, grabbed a fistful of blond locks and pulled Legolas' head back, so that the pale throat was easily accessible. Elrond rubbed his face to the soft skin of the neck just above the collar and under the jaw, lips searching for close contact, only to bite down and suckle forcefully with an exaggerated, obscene sound, long and hard enough to leave a purple mark. No collar and no shirt will be able to hide the bite later. This was a branding mark, for everyone to see.

The tunic Legolas wore was easy to unbutton. Elrond tugged at it non too gently, uncaring if the seams and threads endure it or not, until it hung open. The pale, skinny chest was next to receive a feverish treatment; the Lord's mouth and teeth slid down the tempting flesh, hands kneading the slim back with fervor. Another rough kiss was bestowed upon the swollen lips, reddened like raspberries, soft like flower petals. The twin nubs of Legolas's nipples hardened, for the air coming from the window was cold. The slave started shivering.

"Stand up," Elrond said huskily, tearing his lips away from the yielding mouth under him. "And undress."

Elrond reached for his abandoned wine and sipped at it, watching as Legolas hesitantly complied, fighting with a sob which threatened to break free. Closing his eyes, he slowly peeled off his clothing; first the slim belt he wore around his hips. Then the opened tunic. Soft, knee high boots. Silvery leggings.

"Everything." The Lord snapped. Legolas's fingers trembled as he pulled at his loincloth and bared himself to the eyes of his Master.

Elrond just sat for a moment, admiring the soft, voluptuous body. Legolas was slender like a young tree sapling, white as marble and wonderful to the touch, with silken, unmarred skin. He was perfect. Elrond felt himself harden and his mouth go dry. Watching this pretty elfling was a pleasure in itself; besides, the longer he waited, the more agitated and uncomfortable his slave felt. Having nothing except his collar on, wearing a clear evidence of being possessed, Legolas writhed under the dark gaze and could not help but anticipate what was going to happen to him – and fear the possible pain. Elrond knew that well and marveled at that thought. But he let himself indulge only a little while; he just couldn't wait to have this creature screaming under him.

"To the bedroom with you," Elrond said dangerously, standing up and reaching for the elfling's forearm. "Oh yes, I will so enjoy it! My beautiful little Legolas," he breathed, gathering the Elf close in a mockery of an affectionate embrace. "You are truly, truly… perfect for this. Give me those lips," he ordered and took Legolas' mouth again, plundering the soft cavern without remorse, pushing his tongue deep inside. He led the stumbling child to his bedroom, tightly holding his wrists. He brushed the curtain of the canopy aside and pushed Legolas down, using the fact that his legs were pressed to the side of the bed and he had nowhere to go. Having no support, the elfling fell on the mattress, whimpering silently. He curled there hopelessly, watching as Elrond shrugged his outer robe off and unlaced his leggings.

"Get up," Elrond ordered, sitting on the bed with his knees spread wide. "You will serve me with your mouth today. Kneel before me."

With a muffled sob Legolas slid from the mattress and positioned himself between his Master's legs. His lips were quivering and eyes were filled with tears as he started hesitant licking, tentatively, unskillfully. Elrond quickly grew impatient and led his head down, forcing him to swallow him whole, making the Elf gag.

Pleasure flooded Elrond in an overwhelming way. His slave was inexperienced and young, true, but the very hopelessness of his victim aroused Elrond. Tentative licks mingled with salty droplets falling from the blue eyes; Elrond had the Elf suck the tears away from his flesh, and that alone drove him crazy. Long fingers entwined into the blond mane and a hand instructed what to do, pushing Legolas' head down or staying him where he was. Elrond cast his head back, breathing deeply, a smile forming on his lips, deep and throaty moans escaping him from time to time.

Finally Elrond let Legolas withdrew; the Lord was flushed with arousal, blood pumping in his veins rhythmically, his pupils dilated, eyes fogged. He studied the tearstained, red face of his slave with a mocking grin. He murmured a praise, stroking the blond head like he would stroke his favorite pet.

"I couldn't possibly tire of you, little slave," he breathed, pulling Legolas back onto the bed and flopping him on his stomach. "But I have been neglecting you… we will remedy that. It's about _your_ feelings as well."

Elrond fumbled with some oil and breached the pink, small entrance with his finger. The Elf mewled loudly, trying to get away, but a strong hand caught his nape and steadied him; the intruder began to move inside him.

"Please, no, please, I'll do anything…" Legolas spoke for the first time he entered the room. He didn't even try to hide his tears anymore.

"Of course you will." Elrond smiled and added a second finger into the tight, resisting passage to scissor them and spread his slave more. Legolas yelped into the pillow, louder and louder sobs breaking free. All his body was trembling, a hand laying on the sheet was closing in a fist and relaxing, cleaving the fabric desperately. Elrond shushed him mockingly. "Easy, little one, easy… now, it's not so bad, you can take it… there…"

Elrond heard Legolas scream silently as he removed his fingers and pulled him up on all fours. Elrond leaned over him, thigh to thigh, grabbing the slim hips and pressing them to his own, letting his slave feel his hard erection.

"Now, brace yourself. I promise you will enjoy it," he whispered to the elfling's ear and started to push himself into impossibly hot, tight entrance. Legolas wailed and thrashed, trying to brake the contact, yet Elrond held him strongly, preventing any possibility of escape.

It was pure bliss. Legolas was so hot and wonderfully tight that Elrond thought he will lose it in seconds. Yet he controlled himself, gathered his scattered senses and readied to the next move. Giving his partner no time to adjust, he started pushing in and out; at first he was careful to angle himself properly, so that his slave felt pleasure too, but quickly forgot that, taking as much as he could from the delicious body he had all to himself. He heard only his own moans of pleasure. And, oh Valar, this was just wonderful... how much he missed that! How much he needed that! Yes, more, Elrond thought. More of this miraculous heat. More of this helpless struggling. More of the breathtaking pleasure this act brought. More, straight to completion.

Frenziedly thrusting once, twice more he came hard, spilling a great load of his semen inside the hot channel. He collapsed on top of Legolas, sweated, limp, sated. Satisfied. This was what he needed. How good… this sweet, sweet body…

Slowly coming back to himself, he stroked the white back and playfully bit down the shoulder he had trapped under himself. Breathing hard as after a long run, Elrond pulled out of his slave and fell on the bed with a thud, sighing contently.

Minutes were passing quietly, and darkness around only thickened.

Legolas moaned and slid down from the bed. Elrond glanced at him, irritated that he dares to move from his spot without permission. He was just about pulling him back up on the mattress, when he noticed that the Elf was not rising from the floor.

Elrond stood up and came closer, his eyes widening at what he saw. Legolas was shaking, curled on the floor in a foetal position. He was covered in bruises and bleeding lacerations, his back and bottom were seeping with the fresh crimson blood. He couldn't take a breath in, catching the air like a fish pulled out from the water; his eyes begged, his mouth moved, yet he could not say a word. Elrond could clearly see the broken bones under the transparent, unhealthy skin, his ribcage fractured like after being smashed under a falling tree. Legolas screamed with the last ounce of his strength, giving into this scream all pain and fright he had inside, the air coming out of his mouth with a bloody flow; this scream made Elrond's hair stand on his head, made him stumble back in panic and fell down on the floor as well, this horrid scream, scream, scream…

/*/

Elrond woke up violently, gasped for air, sat down on the bed and looked around with real fright. What happened? What's wrong…? What…?

Nothing. His room was dark and silent; nothing indicated something abnormal, it was the middle of the night. The opened window brought in sounds of heavy rain and a far away thunder. A storm was coming over Imladris.

Just a dream. Just a bad dream. Nothing happened, Elrond repeated to himself; he rubbed his brow coated in cold sweat and took several deep breaths to calm his shaking limbs and the frightened heartbeat. He felt strangely exhausted and spent, a promise of a terrible headache was sending dull needles of pain to the back of his skull and his stomach felt odd, as if it wanted to rebel in mere moments. He wanted to lay back again, but something stopped him. He felt wetness on his lap. And the sheet was damp.

Elrond couldn't believe this. He had come during his sleep like an immature elfling. He rose from the bed, lit a few candles on the nearest candelabra; he eyed the wet stain on the bed and on his nightgown with disgust, feeling awfully empty and shaken. He recalled clearly and vividly all the dream he has just had. The pictures were living under his eyelids, terrifying him and taunting, making his stomach nauseous. What was this dream about?... I wouldn't, I would never… why Legolas…?

Elrond took the sheet off his bed and carried it to the bathroom. He cleaned himself briefly, washed his face with cold water few times and pressed his wet palms to his flushed cheeks. Guilt and disgust gathering in the corners of his mind was overwhelming.

How was this possible? Why my imagination gave me such a vision? – he wondered. I would have never been _this_ rough with any lover of mine, even were he healthy and mentally intact… it was awful… And why _he_, actually? How long it was since I laid with a man…?

"This wasn't me," Elrond whispered. "I am not… I'm not like this…"

Why would I dream of forcing… no, actually raping Legolas…? Why even a thought? No, I wouldn't! He is just a child, an abused, frightened child… Elrond combed a hand through his dark mane in frustration, feeling sick. Glorfindel told me about this rumors. That I kept the boy as my pleasure slave. This talk touched me, yes. I feel lonely, that's true. But I would never do something like _this_… This means nothing, this was just a dream… this wasn't me. Not even the very dark side of me. This just wasn't real. I must not even think about it.

Suddenly a vision of the bloodied figure curling on the floor returned and Elrond almost ran into his bedroom to check if there was really no dying Elf there. You royal idiot, he cursed himself, feeling very real fear clawing at his heart. It was just a nightmare. You are old enough to stop fearing sleeping alone.

Yet worry refused to leave Elrond and he headed to the healing chamber to check on his patient. He needed to see him, to know he is well. He took a candle from his nightstand and hurried out.

"Oh Valar, why this dream? Why do you torment me so by such visions…? I wouldn't do anything! He is just a child, I cannot possibly dream about him in that way! I wouldn't do a thing, why this dream…?" Elrond moaned desperately, reduced to a panicky wreck, feeling a bile rise in his throat. "If this is a punishment for a folly thought I might have had for a second, only to discard it with fright, then your judgment is harsh," Elrond whispered, his lips numb and eyes watery. He just needed to see Legolas. Now.

But all was well with the little patient.

Legolas slept soundly, unaware of his Lord's worry. He was lying on the blanket instead of under it as the evening had been really hot and steamy; now the opened window brought in a tiny shower of rain and upcoming winds, which would undoubtedly wake the sleeping one should the window stay opened. Elrond saw tiny goosebumps on a surface of Legolas' calf, seen from under the nightgown.

The Lord slowly closed the window, mindful not to make any sound. Legolas' face was so at peace. After the new draught Elrond gave him after supper he was having a good dream, or no dream at all, which let him rest and gather some strength to fight with exhaustion and help in convalescence. The blond head rested on a pillow, mouth were left slightly agape; both his palms were laying defenselessly near his cheek. He had brought his knees to his chest when falling asleep. He slept like a child, his breath steady and calm, no sound escaping him.

He will soon feel the cold, Elrond thought, looking at the uncovered leg. He couldn't take the blanket from under him without waking the elfling up. It would be bad to ruin the effects of the new medicine, Legolas has had too few restful nights at all as for Elrond's liking. The Lord shrugged off his rich bathrobe he had put on in the bathroom and covered the elfling delicately, tucking the fabric around the slender body.

Legolas murmured something unarticulated without waking and closed his hand over the hem of the robe, rubbing his face in the pillow. A soft sigh escaped him. He just kept sleeping, unaware and relaxed.

Sleep, poor elfling, Elrond thought swallowing with effort. His throat clenched painfully as he observed the innocent youth.

He found no more sleep that night.


	8. Everything you do

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: None.

Chapter 8: EVERYTHING YOU DO, YOU DO FOR THE FIRST TIME

/*/

As Legolas' state was gradually improving, Elrond decided it was wise to show him some normalcy and he started to drag him into the daily routine, keeping an eye on him during his work. He used to carry Legolas out to the balcony and let him breathe fresh air, while he was sitting in his room near the opened doors and writing, doing needed paperwork or his medical researches. He studied books with maps in the full sun, sitting with Legolas and sipping lazily at his tea. At first Legolas had difficulties with his Lord's silent presence. He couldn't think, couldn't relax, couldn't do anything beside sitting stiffly and playing nervously with a hem of his shirt or an edge of the blanket, never looking at Elrond. But with time he got used to it. Elrond studied books, made small notes, murmured to himself sometimes. When Legolas started to behave more normally, Elrond used to ask about something from time to time or lead a mild, casual talk, searching for an optimal ground he could move on when interacting with the Elf. Laboriously, really painstakingly a connection between the two was being built.

Glorfindel was a happy, enlighting, joyous creature filling the chambers with words and laughter every time he came by. And as he was always where his friend and Lord was, Legolas saw him very often. When the weather was rainy or too hot, the elfling stayed indoors at Elrond's instruction, curled in the red armchair and covered by a fluffy blanket, doing his best to melt into the back rest. He listened, wanted it or not, to the long debates between the Lords about various political issues, followed by every sort of supplies, harvests, crops, citizens, money politics, councils, letters, arrangements, architecture plans, horses or cattle, everything. Elrond knew all about his land. He learned every inch of it by heart. Observing him and listening to him speaking to his equals about matters of importance, Legolas was struck in awe. He stopped thinking about Elrond as of a good healer-Lord. He was suddenly placed much higher. He was a ruler from a fairytale. Some kind of a merciful deity, giving from his generous hand, creating by a mere word. A king Lord. A Master, always a Master. It gave a potent mix, placing unaware Elrond in a place of almost a god.

When the savior Master was downstairs on councils or meetings, Legolas was being left with someone, mostly Neremiel. They talked and shared experiences. The maiden was kind, open hearted and very gentle. Soon Legolas found himself speaking more than he intended at first, talking about all this wonders around, about his disbeliefs and hopes. Neremiel was a loyal listener.

Nutritious meals helped to regain both some fat and muscling, but all damage couldn't be helped at once, not in one, not in four or more weeks. Legolas has been kept in outrageous conditions for years.

Then the time came when he was strong enough to stand on his own. Exercises begun, painful at first as all his limbs were weakened and stiffened, his very bones sore, his muscles trembling from disuse. It was difficult to catch a breath after the first day, all his body hurt, his ribs were like on fire. Elrond wanted to wait few more days seeing this. But Legolas was persistent. As soon as he regained his senses and dried from the sweat, he was trying anew. And again. Again. Once more.

So Elrond began to instruct and soon it showed he was a demanding teacher. When he said twenty repeatings of one exercise, it had to be twenty, not even one less. Seeing disapproval in his eyes and his lips going into a thin, angry line - only once - Legolas swore to himself he would work and try, even if he had absolutely no strength left. Even if he was lying on the floor unable to get up. He had to. Elrond wanted that of him. Master said it should be done.

Maybe it was not the kind of discipline Elrond wanted to enforce, but it worked. Soon Legolas was able to walk out of his room alone, only with the help of walking canes. And in few days he put them down as well. Yet he was still weak and slept much. Soon they developed a schedule allowing Legolas to exercise and rest in sufficient amount; workout in the morning, sleep after dinner, less demanding exercises in the evening, bath, sleep.

Legolas wanted to be able to walk again on his own, even if it was an awkward stumble, so they were walking a lot. Elrond used to stand and hold Legolas' forearms, as the elfling stood facing him; the Lord was moving backwards, minding Legolas' steps. If the Elf felt lightheaded, he was always there, able to catch him without problem. Legolas was doing his best, but had huge difficulties. His legs just refused to carry him. His muscles were sore, stiffen and weak from disuse, his ribs made breathing difficult, the ankle was slow to heal and the overall dehydration and blood loss made him pass out few times. One evening during their everyday walking training he just couldn't take a step further, knowing that it is just pointless to try. He went down on his knees ungracefully and still holding Elrond's robe by both desperate hands, supported his head on the iron frame of the bed nearby. He was so exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Both.

"I cannot," he whispered.

"You can." Elrond's voice was quiet, yet determined. "I will help you. But you must stand up on your own."

Legolas glanced up. His breath was ragged and tired, like a breath of an old man. What a disproportion, he thought. This is where I am supposed to be, on my knees before you. Why even try to get up? What's the point?... Something choked him in his throat. Valar, he was so tired. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't find the strength. He just couldn't order his limbs to move. He would gladly slip down to lie on this inviting, warm carpet.

"Legolas."

His Master was calling him. Stand up and walk, his eyes were saying. Sighing with frustration, Legolas straightened; the movement made his head spin and forced desperate tears from the corners of his eyes. Elrond's hands were on his shoulders. We'll help, the hands offered. Legolas caught the fabric under his palm tighter and with a mewl rose from the floor, all shaky and almost blind from the dizziness. The hands pulled him up. Not seeing or knowing, Legolas fell forward, straight into awaiting arms, which cradled him and held upright.

"Good. Good elfling, That's right… Now, back into the bed… that would be enough for today."

Such were the hours spent with the mighty Lord of Imladris.

The fragile trust hardened. The small light of hope still burned. The shock turned into an overawed astonishment. The disbelief was slowly replaced by a hesitant certainty.

And there he stood now, recovered Elf. Healthy and whole again, with no bandages and no broken bones.

/*/

"I am ready to work now, Sir," Erestor heard and turned around surprised at the quiet voice he didn't expect to hear downstairs so soon.

"You are up?" he asked as he saw the submissively lowered face of Legolas. "Does Elrond know?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Did he see you this morning?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And does he approve?"

Legolas bit his lip. "Yes, Sir," he said hesitantly, "Only Master forbid me to… to work."

Erestor arched an eyebrow skywards. "So you have the day all to yourself. I think you should catch some sleep after dinner, and in no case overexert yourself. Means: no helping in the stables, no carrying water, nothing tiring at all, are we clear? Take a walk somewhere. Visit the gardens. Talk with someone. Go enjoy yourself."

Legolas nodded miserably.

"Listen, I saw you delirious. I saw you at the very edge and believe me, I shall remember it to the end of my life. I don't want to see you ill ever again. That last time was enough." Erestor smiled friendly and laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "That's why please, do me a favor and take care of yourself. Alright?"

"Yes, Sir," the fair Elf whispered and hesitantly glanced up. Recently he learned he will not be punished when asking something, so he dared to test his luck again. "So… what can I do? I don't want to be useless" he said.

"You will carry a message for me, all right? Glorfindel should be near the paddocks. But I'm serious, no work there!"

Soon after Legolas ran into a sunny courtyard, closing his fingers over the neatly folded paper.

Oh, how long it was since he could walk freely outside the buildings! He enjoyed the fresh air and birdsong as if for the first time, when walking down the path in the direction of the stables. All was alluring, more beautiful, more _living_, for he was finally on his own two legs again. He breathed in deeply and with a smile chose his way.

The patio and walkways were done in a nicely carved stone, light gray in color. In full sunlight it looked inviting, sparkling with tiny grains of white sand embedded in the stone. The path behind the house on his right led to the gardens full of various herbs for the kitchens and healing halls. His way however led to the wide alley secluded by high trees on both sides of it, creating a shadowy corridor with a natural roof of mingled branches. That was the way leading from the main gates of Imladris to the front door of the palace. He followed it for some time, looking at the people passing him and riders in Imladris' colors leaving the palace for many destinations. One turn left later Legolas saw the stables.

They had made a huge impression on him earlier. They were much larger than those in Mirkwood. He had already noticed that there were more doors and windows making the building lighter and airier; many roomy stalls lined each side with beams criss-crossing in the rafters, where birds made their nests, especially swallows. There were also stairs to the loft, where the oats and hay was kept. It was peaceful in here and Legolas knew he would always enjoy working in here.

The horses lodged in the stable abandoned their meal as he entered and turned his attention on the Elf. He wasn't scared of them anymore, he learned long ago that animals are better than humans or Elves. The initiate fear of the horses' strength and size disappeared as he saw that they won't bite or kick him if he did nothing to scare them. Slowly, but not hesitantly he reached for the first one on his left and petted the dark, soft, velvety nose. In the first stall a little golden foal stood up and came closer, trying to gain his attention. It was a little mare, looking at him with her big dark eyes. He caressed her ears and spoke soothingly; a tiny moment of indulge would not displease anyone, right…? Especially when there was no one in the stables. He glanced around, looking for Lord Glorfindel, but he was nowhere to be seen. He kissed the young mare's forehead as she neighed friendly at him, but he had no time for further play. He patted her neck one last time and walked away to follow the sounds of shouts from the far stable yard.

Legolas emerged from the stables beside a large paddock where the Elves were shouting and running around trying to force a wild horse to obey. The stallion was obviously not cooperating: he had a great fun chasing the terrified stable boys from one corner of the yard to another. He was frisking wildly and trying to bite everyone in range, but without a malicious nature. It was almost as if the horse was playing with them, taking a perverted satisfaction from each of their falls face down to the mud. A muddied Lord Glorfindel stood near the railing, watching as the horse ran the Elves around in circles. Seeing Legolas, he called him over to his side.

"Wild and stubborn rascal, isn't he?" Glorfindel snorted. "He was this way when we received him. Magnificent one, but a bit playful at the moment." One of the grooms cursed in an especially nasty manner and crawled away from the field, retreating through the mud. The horse neighed demonically, pretending he's chasing him. The Elf rose, jumped over the fence and stumbled over a nearby bucket, landing on the ground again.

"As I said. He decided to play with the boys a little. Perfect timing really." The Balrog Slayer shook his head with a smile. The ground was wet, as it was raining heavily that night. Now all the Elves including Glorfindel were smeared with mud.

"Have you tried to ride him, my Lord?" Legolas asked, watching as Glorfindel was trying to get rid of the mud which poured at his face from his hair.

"Yes, I have. But he is uncontrollable at yet," came the reply.

"Uncontrollable," Legolas whispered, relishing the word on his tongue. Glorfindel shot him a look and smiled. The boy was looking at the proud stallion with glowing eyes. Indeed, the horse was beautiful; black as the deepest night, the swashbuckling gleam on his fur. The wide chest was made for wearing a metal breast-plate of a battle horse, like those on the paintings Legolas saw in the hallways, portraying battle scenes or other legendary moments. The strong, perfectly muscled legs were ending in an elegant shape of hooves, still free from any horseshoes. The shapely head turned to Legolas, giving him a shot of the black eyes: courageous, proud and a bit malicious at the moment. With one move of his thick and long tail the horse galloped away, demonstrating to the elfling his endless disdain.

Legolas was thoroughly enchanted. Glorfindel couldn't help but chuckle at his stunned expression; he met a bit hurt, short look. Legolas bent his head again. Glorfindel sighed and encircled him by one arm.

"I'm not laughing at you. It's just pleasant to see your fascination with the horses." Glorfindel patted the elfling's arm. "I bet you would want to ride on him one day."

Legolas' eyes widened at that and his mouth fell agape. He couldn't mean…

"Of course not today, because you are still weak, your ribs are sore and this beast is all but tamed," Glorfindel smiled, "but be patient and your wish may come true one day." Legolas' eyes looked down again, but the happy spark was still present.

"So I see you're up and about. That is well. I only hope you are not here to work, little one."

"Sir Erestor ordered me to give you this," Legolas answered. Glorfindel thanked, enfolded the paper and read the directions and details of another council meeting with a very displeased expression. He put the paper to his pocket and sighed.

"How I hate this. Alright, given I still have some time… what are you going to do now, Legolas?"

The Elf hesitated. "I thought I will be helpful here, my Lord."

"No such luck."

Legolas fell silent. This was starting to be uncomfortable, what was he supposed to do, walk through the gardens whole day and do nothing? Why? He was well now, and even if he wasn't, what difference would it make? He had already wasted plenty of time staying in bed, how will he ever work this off, if he won't start now?

"Assuming from your look, you are quite miserable with this." Glorfindel cocked his head.

"Maybe I could… I don't know… sweep the floors…? Do something," he whispered.

"Legolas, if you are a singer, you have a strong voice. Use it," Glorfindel commanded.

Legolas took a deep breath and repeated the sentence louder. The Elf Lord laughed, patted his arm again and ordered to follow.

Legolas did. Glorfindel ushered him into the stable and slowly began working; Legolas quickly understood he can only help, but do nothing on his own. He sighed and slowly, so as not to be noticed, silently he began helping Glorfindel. The Lord kept a strict eye on him and was halting him from the most strenuous chores, but accepted his help as he had noticed the elfling's rapport with the horses. Well, not quite what Legolas wanted, but that would have to do.

They helped the terrified Elves to bring the magnificent stallion back to his box. They checked on the foals, swept the floor, supplied the horses with hay and food, brought water and repaired two stall doors. They brushed a few horses also. All the time Legolas was being watched; he was managing, but fatigue made its presence felt quite quickly and even if Legolas didn't do anything constructive in his opinion, with time he began to feel lightheaded and grabbed the stall door with both hands for support. Glorfindel was near him in an instant, helping to sit on the floor.

"Shit, Elrond is going to kill me," Glorfindel cursed, brushing Legolas' hair out of the way and meeting a sweated nape. "Come on, breathe steadily, all is well…"

"Yes, all is well," Legolas said a bit surprised. "I'm just fine…"

"I have heard that already," Glorfindel muttered, checking Legolas' brow, making him stare in small shock at his superior.

The clear vision returned. His head calmed down, as well as his heart. The two Elves were just looking at each other in worry, a few grooms watching the scene from afar. Legolas was confused.

"Why… everybody are so worried… about me?" he asked hesitantly.

Glorfindel sighed and sat near him, supporting his back on the stall door and stretching his long legs.

"Because we have seen how ill you were," he said slowly. "How you were mistreated and abused. Now you need care and worry, especially since you are still exhausted and have not fully healed."

And besides you may be fading, Glorfindel thought, but never said this aloud.

"But I am used to hard work," Legolas responded quietly.

"But that doesn't mean you will work comparably hard here. That wasn't hard work, that in Mirkwood. That was exploitation and torture."

Legolas didn't say a word. One, he did not know what to say; for him it was only normal that his betters order him to work, refuse rest, beat and shove around. It was how he has been treated from childhood, with a saint belief that he deserves that, for he is of the worse kind. Second, if he agreed with Glorfindel, where could that conversation lead? Only to a severe punishment. Glorfindel, after all, was his superior, and this all could be just a provocation. And even if it wasn't, like his Master Elrond told him… He wasn't ready for any kind of conversation about his past.

"You don't want to talk about it, don't you?"

Legolas glanced up at the mighty Lord. This wasn't a question he expected. Slowly he shook his head no.

"It's alright, you don't have to. But if you ever want to, you can… come to me." It was Glorfindel now who was looking down.

Legolas almost flinched in shock. No, this had to be a play, a wicked game only to show him his place. Legolas couldn't allow himself to be caught in this.

"My Lord, you can _order_ me to talk," he said. "And I will obey."

Glorfindel supported his chin on his fist and glanced at Legolas tolerantly.

"You are not a slave anymore." He said in a tone of a lecturer. "You should have this sentence written on your hand, so that you could look at it anytime and memorize it." His look turned into strict now. "It was a suggestion made by a friend, not a Master, Legolas," he said.

"A friend?" Legolas repeated in daze, feeling his mask slip and his composure dissolving. "You, my Lord?"

Glorfindel fell silent for a good minute.

"Am I that bad…?" he teased finally.

"N-no! This is… just… not like this, this… you're the Lord!"

"I'm the same as everybody else. I only have more responsibilities."

"Privileges!"

"No, responsibilities."

Legolas couldn't stand the tension anymore and hid his face in hands, shaking slightly. He has just got into an disagreement with one of his betters. This was unthinkable.

"I didn't believe Elrond when he said you are brainwashed. Now… I do." Glorfindel whispered and encircled the thin boy with both his arms, pressing him to his chest. Legolas stiffened in horror, dug his fists into Glorfindel's chest and tried to wriggle free, but as he was held fiercely. He froze. Slowly the hold lessened, the reassuring strokes came and Glorfindel's own cheek was pressed to the top of Legolas's head.

"This is not like you think. Listen, you have come here from a different world. World of pain, injustice, terror and enforced obedience. You must learn to live in the normal world again. For _this_ is the normal world. This right here."

"I disrespected you, my Lord. I am sorry…"

"There is no need to say sorry, you did nothing wrong. You don't understand. You must learn. "

Legolas didn't relax, but hopefully he didn't tense up any further. He didn't like the contact at all, but had no other option than to surrender and stay close. Sighing, he closed his eyes. Did Glorfindel mean what he said?

"Different world?" Legolas asked and met a nod. "I must learn everything from the beginning?"

"Like a child would." Glorfindel said, brushing a strand of hair out of Legolas's eyes. "Now everything you do, you do for the first time. Like you were born again."

An aching loneliness flooded the elfling. He couldn't understand, his mind rebelled at the vision Glorfindel was creating, but he felt sadness and pain nevertheless. He didn't want the tears to come, for it was humiliating to cry in front of others, but he knew this will inevitably come if he stays in this embrace any longer. He was still afraid of Glorfindel. He yearned for a different touch, one he would not fear. He wanted his friend, he wanted Moreth. Or Mearwen, the old woman in the Mirkwood kitchens. Or even Titinne, with her mass of orange locks and lips covered in dark red colour. He wanted them, he couldn't stay any longer in this arms, for this just wasn't safe, this was a trap, this had to be, he had to move away…

"Legolas, think about what I said. And my offer still stands. But you don't have to use it. You can, but don't have to." Glorfindel sounded after longer while. "Now, I want to take you back to the palace. You must rest and eat something. Alright?"

Legolas nodded, happy to be free. Slowly and meekly he was walking behind Glorfindel all the way to the palace, not speaking a word. Glorfindel was silent too. He was afraid he did more damage than right today.

/*/

He was left in the kitchens under Belithravien's eye. Decidingthat he had better find Erestor, Legolas sneaked out and searched until he found him in the gardens.

"Ah, Legolas! I trust you found Lord Glorfindel?" the head of the household asked as he examined a large tomato plant.

"Yes, I did," he said with his head bowed.

"Must you always bow your head? Wake up, there is no necessary." Erestor asked in exasperation.

"Do you have anything else for me to do today, Sir?" Legolas asked as he ignored the comment about his head. He would not rise it after the talk in the stables.

"You have done more than enough I suspect," Erestor said as he saw the dirt on Legolas's clothing. "Lord Elrond will not like it at all. How are you feeling, little one?"

"I'm fine" was all Legolas would say. Erestor gave him a look that said he knew he was lying and told him to spend the rest of the day resting, dismissing him with a shooing gesture.

So the day has ended. All was done. Legolas decided to find Neremiel; maybe she would find him a quiet place to sleep? He felt somehow tired, truth be told, his body was oddly sore. Not to mention he didn't want to talk with anyone right now. He just wanted to sleep it off.

"Neremiel, is there some place I could lay for an hour of sleep?" he asked the maiden, when he found her on the back-up of the kitchens, where she was hanging out the washing.

"Oh my, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you, I have already prepared your chamber and it only awaits your presence."

"My what?" Legolas asked.

"Your chamber silly," she told him. "Where did you think you would stay?"

"I… did not know. Surely not here in the palace," he replied. Neremiel smiled sadly.

"There are still many things you must learn. One of those is, we have no slave quarters here." Legolas couldn't help a sad glance. Again this learning thing.

She took him gently under his elbow and started to tow him up the stairs, explaining.

"You must remember," she began. "There are no slaves here, we are all paid for our work. We all live where we want. I live in a cottage in the southern part of Imladris with my parents and my little brother. Most live in their own cottages, a few in talans in the woods. Lord Elrond and his family live here in the palace of course, as do Lords Erestor and Glorfindel. Most of the unattached live either in the warrior's barracks or here in the palace. You have been assigned a room here as such."

"I have never had a room of my own before," he said.

"Me neither," she looked at him, understanding. "I share a room with my brother. But I suppose… you were in a much worse situation." He smiled sadly and nodded, not angry at this comment, but suddenly very sad.

"Things are so different here," Legolas said quietly. He could speak to her, she was his fellow servant, after all. "I am experiencing so many new things. I fear when it will end."

"The worst is over," she said gently. "Now you're a free Elf. You are just a little... lost. Give yourself time. No one is going to hurt you, we'll be pleased to help you accommodate."

"But how can I be a free Elf?" he muttered quietly enough for her not to hear him.

She took him by the hand and led to a room close to Lord Elrond's private chambers. That was not a surprise to Legolas; he welcomed it with a gloomy satisfaction. Sure he would be kept close. If Master Elrond wanted to have a nightly use of him, surely he would not run somewhere downstairs.

Opening the door, Neremiel pushed him into a big chamber. Beauty of the room made Legolas gasp in wonder; he never expected something like _this_. There was a huge four poster bed made of dark wood, covered in heavy red velvet and a huge number of embroidered pillows. In one corner sat a small dressing table and a similar wardrobe. There was a table and chairs beside the window and a large armchair near the balcony entrance, very similar to Lord Elrond's red one. The balcony was large, with a view of most of Imladris, including the waterfalls.

Legolas was spellbound.

"Do you like it?" asked Neremiel with a happy note in her voice. Legolas didn't know what to say; he was stunned.

"It is… so beautiful," he stammered finally. He couldn't stop staring.

"I will leave you now; you wanted to sleep," the girl said, soothingly rubbing his arm. "And you must know that this is the best bed in whole Imladris, so go to sleep and rest well," she told him. "I will check on you later in case you need anything."

"Neremiel," he began. "Thank you…"

"Do not thank me, thank Lord Elrond. Sleep well" she said, giggled and closed the door behind her.

Legolas was left alone in the large chamber.

He was so overtaken by all that had happened that he sat down on the edge of the bed and sudden tears came to his eyes. He had to occupy himself with something not to start to cry; after all, he had no reason and it was only his aching heart. Legolas shook his head. Too much of it, too much. Just calm down. It will all be well, he repeated to himself.

Finally regaining control, he hoisted himself up from the bed and approached the wide opened window. It was warm; the sounds of birds chirping and people working downstairs filled Legolas' ears. At least it wasn't too quiet for him. He came back and tentatively pressed the bed's mattress by his hand, uncertainly, shyly. He was afraid he wouldn't manage to sleep in a bed so soft. Too soft for a slave.

The room looked as if it was somebody's own chamber previously. If he had to guess, he would say the previous occupant had been a female. There were little marks of it, even if the room was perfectly tidied and prepared; many pillows, four-poster bed, huge balcony, beautiful curtains, dressing table and delicate wooden carvings.

On the wall above the table he spied a black curtain that looked strangely out of place. Moving the curtain aside, he discovered that it was hiding a painting of a beautiful woman with a small child. The little dark-haired girl was sitting on her lap, completely unlike her mother. They were looking at each other and seemed rather happy.

The painting was very good, obviously done with professionalism, and Legolas wondered why anyone would hide it. Confused and tired he let the curtain fall back. As much as he would like to know the mystery, he was too tired to worry about it. He returned to the bed and took off his shoes, making a mental note not to be surprised about anything from now on.

He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillows.

/*/

It seemed only a moment later when Legolas heard someone knocking at the door. At first he could not recall where he was and the view of the unknown place made his heart go faster, but his memory kicked in and he sighed in relief, displeased with his own skittishness.

"Come in please," he called faintly when the person knocked again. The door opened and Neremiel showed in the gap.

"May I?" she asked, and when he nodded, clumsily crawling upright on the bed, she entered and closed the door behind her.

"You have slept long," she said. "It's evening already. You must have really needed the nap."

"Erm… yes," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. A sudden wakeup left him a bit stunned.

"You know," she started conversationally, "you have received an invitation to dine with Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel this evening. And Erestor told me to repeat that you are not there to serve them, only to eat with them. That's wonderful! Such an honor… I am here to help you prepare."

"But… I can't," he said in surprise. "I'm just… I can't!"

"Shush," she said to stave off his denial. Chatting on she continued. "You can and you will. You are lucky, can't you see? It is not everyone who is invited to a private dinner with them. I certainly never have been and probably never will. Here, let me fix your hair for you," Neremiel said as she sat him down and gently unbraided the golden strands. "I wish I had hair like yours" she confessed. "It is silk to the touch." She sighed and grabbed the hairbrush. "I have also brought you more appropriate clothing. After all you cannot have dinner with the Lords in your household robes, can you?"

"Why not?" Legolas asked in confusion.

"Legolas, your house robes are casual wear for everyday," she shook her beautiful head. "Dinner with the Lords is a formal occasion, so you will need something better."

"Neremiel, you are going into too much trouble on my account," he said fervently. "I don't need another set of clothes."

"Legolas," she began to explain gently. "I know you may not be used to it, but we use to have more than one set of clothes. It is normal for an Elf to have many sets."

"Why all of you care so much?" he asked very quietly, repeating the question from the stalls. It was more than he could comprehend.

"Legolas, you have met only a few of us and yes, we care. We all care about each other here," she said calmly. "It is normal for people to help each other. You need care, while we can provide it. Why wouldn't we help you?"

"There is nothing for free," he whispered.

"No, you're wrong. Kindness doesn't cost anything. So does comfort. And help you are receiving now, the possibility of a new, better life, is not given because we want something as a repayment."

"Then why?"

"Because it should be done," she said with fierce certainty. "Don't be offended, Legolas, but in our eyes you are a poor, mistreated being which wouldn't survive on its own. Being the stronger ones, we feel bound to help. It is our duty to do so. It's what a good man would do. Have you ever heard of solidarity?"

Legolas' breath halted for a moment. What this had to do with it? This was beyond any possible comparison. Neremiel did not know what she was speaking about. She had never been kept in Mirkwood's conditions. She couldn't even understand the enormity of the situation they all were in. Without solidarity and help they would all die, it was normal a slave would give his own bread to another slave, or help him dress his wounds, or help with the work the other one was too weak to do. But it was between slaves. And no Lord or a Master having respect to himself wouldn't help a slave.

Legolas was certain that things presented themselves no differently here. He knew his place. He couldn't allow himself to be caught in this smart trap. The Lords would not help him, no one helped him for free.

Legolas didn't answer. He kept these thoughts to himself. Maybe he shouldn't trust even Neremiel.

"I know you are confused and everything is happening too fast," the girl said hesitantly. "But give us a chance and everything will be fine."

Legolas sighed. How should he react…? He just nodded in resignation.

She handed him his new clothes and helped him finish preparing. Legolas was truly amazed at the transformation when he looked in the mirror; he almost looked like a High Elf. His leggings were grey and he had on leather boots that came to his knees. His tunic was made of some soft and fleshy fabric in a warm green color with embroidery around the sleeves, neck and hem. The clothes were made of a good quality material, even he could easily say so. Neremiel looked at him with criticism, brushed long strands to fall on his shoulders and fastened a fair sash around his waist. She moved back and admired the result for a moment.

"I do not deserve such a gift," Legolas said, his happiness almost shuttered by this thought.

Neremiel shook her head again. "If it worries you, talk to Lord Elrond about it," she told him, "but I am sure you don't have to be concerned with it."

"What I am supposed to do there?" he asked suddenly. "What can I talk to an Elf Lord about?"

"You can talk about anything you want," she answered. "Lord Elrond is like a father to us all. He will talk about almost anything with you. Be at ease, there are many possible subjects you can raise up," Neremiel smiled. "For example the stables. You were working there all day, share your thoughts with them. I also bet that they will want you to sing. You are a singer, after all, if Erestor wasn't lying! Now, run along. You are probably hungry and they will be waiting."

He thanked her squeezing gently her tiny hand and walked to the door, but then hesitated.

"Off you go," she said not giving him a chance to hesitate further.

Legolas smiled back hesitantly and made his way to Lord Elrond's private chambers at the end of the corridor. The silent knocking sounded and he was let in.

Glorfindel and Elrond were pleasantly surprised by the change. Legolas looked stunning. He was not as unhealthy white as he was upon arrival and even though he was still too thin, he did not look starved anymore. Elrond's heart was warmed by the changes he saw in the young Elf. He no longer looked like a slave from Mirkwood, but like a free son of his people.

"My Lords..." Legolas begun as he bowed low.

"You do not have to kneel or do anything of the sort, just come sit with us," Elrond said as he pulled out a chair. Legolas sat, but was on tenterhooks. Elrond proceeded to light the candles as Glorfindel poured them all wine.

"Relax, Legolas," the blond Elf Lord said when he saw how stiff he was holding himself.

Dinner was brought by the two Elves, who were silent and quick like shadows. In a minute they disappeared and Legolas was uncertain if they were even there. He and the two Lords were left alone, with no one standing behind near the wall, ready to serve them; Lord Elrond rolled his sleeves up and cut the duck on a plate with a small, silvery knife, just as if he was doing this all his life. He put a portion on Glorfindel's plate, then on Legolas', then on his own. Legolas' face reddened.

The elfling didn't know how to act, so he decided to do the same as his Lords. He was used to wolfing his food down in Mirkwood because of his constant starvation, but now he imitated the Lords and tried to eat as slowly as he could. They were eating a dinner of a roasted duck served with a variety of fruits and berries. There was freshly baked bread with honey or jam and wine. Legolas was given a glass as well. Hesitantly he tried a sip. The sour taste of alcohol almost made his stomach revolt and he put the glass away as quick as he could not to touch it even once again.

Elrond and Glorfindel were talking in an absolutely normal, even familiar manner. They were slowly drawing Legolas into their conversation by asking him questions. There was often laughter and Legolas began to relax slowly; a hint of a smile appeared on his lips and stayed on through most of the time. He had heard the two talking about matters of importance and politics, this time it was about spending the evening pleasantly, so without any strain, without any heavy topics the time went flying during a casual talk.

"So, how do you like my stables?" Elrond asked with a smile, addressing Legolas. "I was told you have an affinity with horses."

"I like horses very much, and they seem to like me, Master" Legolas answered quietly with a warm smile upon his face. Elrond liked it a lot and wished to see more of it.

"I know because I had a talk with your friend," Elrond told him. "The one who defended you in the council hall when you first arrived a week ago. Moreth. And Glorfindel confirms that."

"I like your stables, Master. They are much bigger and brighter than the ones in Mirkwood. One can tell that your horses are in good condition. There is plenty of foals and yearlings, which says much about how well you care for your horses, Master," Legolas said and Elrond nodded with satisfaction, noting that it was the longest speech the Elf has made since coming to Imladris.

"Moreth… was speaking about me?" Legolas shyly asked, when he saw a small encourage on another question.

"Yes, we had a short talk before the delegation departing. But he was not very talkative," Elrond replied. "Pity; I wished to know more about you. What I am able to tell as far is that you have made a good healing progress, but you're still too thin; you slowly accommodate here, but I would still wish for you to be more relaxed, for you are scared most of the time, and terribly shy. Oh, and the clothes are perfect for you."

"About these clothes, Master," he began. "They are far too expensive a gift for me, 'tis just… I shouldn't, I can't…" he tried fervently.

"The clothes are for you," Elrond stated firmly. "Arwen would be disappointed if you didn't accept them."

"Who is Arwen?" Legolas asked confused.

"She is my daughter and the Evenstar of our people," came the answer. "You should let her see you in these clothes. I think she would like to know how well they look on you." Another smile, another nod as an encouragement.

"Is she the one in the covered picture in the chamber Neremiel led me to?" Legolas dared to ask. He met a second of stillness, his Master giving him a sharp glance before answering.

"No, the woman on the painting is my sister, Elevran. She sailed over the Sea."

Legolas really didn't know what to do with a strange silence which fell over the table.

"I am sorry," he said finally, hoping it will help somehow.

"Me too," Elrond said without looking at him. He sighed silently and recovered from the gloomy thoughts. "Glorfindel, would you go call Arwen please? She is late again, even if I asked her to be on time."

"Come on, you know that if a girl wants to make an impression she has to be a bit late," Glorfindel said with a smile as he rose. Elrond poured himself a little more wine and delicately clinked his glass with Legolas' full one.

"Isn't the wine to your liking?" he asked. Legolas stiffened.

"I… actually, I have never… it is good, of course it is," he said ungracefully, going red on his face. Elrond delicately covered his hand resting on the white tablecloth with his own.

"Legolas, lies hold no interest to me. And do not ever be afraid of telling the truth. I don't want you to say anything else but truth." The Lord said patiently. "Again. Isn't the wine to your liking?"

"It's not, Master." Legolas said truthfully. A gentle pressure on his knuckles made him broaden the answer. "I… I don't like alcohol. It makes one… defenseless."

"Have you ever drank alcohol before?" Elrond inquired.

"I don't know," Legolas said. Elrond gave him a strange look.

"How come?" he asked.

"It's the truth, I swear," Legolas said quickly, looking at his Master with fear.

"It's all right, all right, I believe," Elrond extended a hand and touched the rigid shoulder. "But why you don't remember?"

Legolas bit his lip. "I don't remember half of the things which happened in the dungeon," he said surprisingly calmly. "But I recall a scent similar to… to the wine. This is of course nicer and lighter, but similar," Legolas admitted, suddenly feeling so very stupid that he makes a scene just because he doesn't like the smell.

"I understand," Elrond said with compassion. He rose, gave a thin shoulder a comforting pat, took his wine away and fetched a cup of herbal tea from a smaller table standing near the opposite wall. "Here, maybe this will serve you better."

Legolas smiled with gratefulness and thanked sincerely. Elrond's hand moved higher, on his head, long fingers entwining with the blond tresses. It was so pleasant to look at Legolas today.

Glorfindel soon returned with Arwen, both of them laughing at pristine Elven maidens and their taste for tarting up. Voice of the Evenstar was bright and inviting like silver bells, when she laughed. When Legolas saw her, he could only stare.

"Arwen my dear, this is Legolas. Legolas, my daughter." Elrond introduced them and Arwen came closer to see the new, intriguing Elf better. Legolas looked at the most beautiful _elleth_ he had ever seen. She was tall and thin, her raven black hair fell down her back in regular, delicate waves. Her face was pale and a little long, like Elrond's, but full, red lips she had to get from her mother. As she smiled, her eyes seemed to reflect the first stars of the evening. She was wearing a sky blue gown that fit well on her slim figure.

Legolas rose from his seat and knelt before her, kissing the edge of her dress. She gasped silently at such behavior, both enchanted and a little worried; she hesitated, but responded in a way that would not embarrass the Elf. She bent and helped him up.

"No one has ever greeted me that way before, it was very romantic," she began as she studied him. "But please, do not do it again. You need not to kneel ever again," she gently lifted his chin a little, giving him a bright smile. "This color is perfect on you! I told Ada that green would suit you."

Glorfindel snorted with laughter, causing Legolas and Elrond to smile also. Arwen stroked delicately the pale cheek and invitingly opened her arms. Hesitant and uncertain, Legolas looked her in the eye not knowing what she wanted of him; but as she shook her head at his hesitation and pulled him in a tight hug, he found out.

"Welcome in Imladris, Legolas. It's good to hear you are well again. I trust your new home has been only good for you, dear."

Legolas sighed quietly and returned the embrace, shyly resting his hands on the maiden's arms. "Yes, my Lady. I feel much better here."

Arwen pulled a little away to study his face. With a bitter smile she traced an edge of a fresh scar on Legolas' forehead. She hugged him close one more time and pressed her lips briefly to one of his temples.

"Come, let us sit." She said. "It is such a beautiful night; the singing will begin soon, so let's eat and enjoy the music."

They all sat around the table, preoccupied with their dinner and talking once again. The evening grew late, the tea calmed Legolas down and allowed him to feel comfortable again. He kept peeking glances at Arwen, captured by her beauty. The Lords settled for the tea as well, having emptied one bottle of wine. The meat was slowly disappearing from the plates throughout the whole evening, but later they settled for fruits and cakes. Legolas felt like in heaven, sitting at the rich table and being pampered with all this delicious things he had only seen on the King's table as far.

As Arwen predicted, the eerie sound of Elven music came from the open window some time later. It was a beautiful melody, with delicate choir of maiden voices, unreal and floating, surrounding them like a fog would surround each blade of grass in the morning. Legolas turned his head to the balcony, from where the sounds seeped. He must have looked touched, for Glorfindel spoke at his expression.

"You look as if you heard something like this for the first time." The Lord said kindly.

"Yes, my Lord," Legolas admitted. "We do not do this… I mean, we don't sing in Mirkwood… like this. In choirs."

"How do you sing, then?" Elrond inquired.

"Alone," Legolas said. "There is usually one person who starts, few verses. Then someone else sings after, then the next one. Sometimes we sing together the repeatable parts, and sometimes we all hum the melody, when it's cold and we sit in groups or…" instantly he knew he said too much, so he fell silent.

"Or?" Elrond asked quietly.

"Or when it's too difficult to sing alone anymore."

Glorfindel cleared his throat delicately and settled for changing the subject. He gave Legolas a kind glance and cut the apple in slices, putting a few of them on Legolas' plate.

"We had hoped you would sing for us, little one. What do you think?" he asked kindly.

"Yes, please sing for us," Arwen asked in a dreamy voice.

"What would you like me to sing?" Legolas smiled; he would not deny them.

"Something about love" said Arwen eagerly.

Glorfindel smiled at her gently and shook his head, amused at typically maiden taste he teased her about earlier. Legolas put down his tea and began to sing.

His voice started out shyly, but grew in intensity as he sang a love tune he had learned in childhood. He never knew its meaning then, when he used to sing it in a grey dawn among the high trees of Mirkwood. It told about a prince from a far away land who gave up everything after falling in love with a maiden, cursed by an evil witch into a swan. He painted the black lake with his words, the tune delicate, fragile and so easy to break; he described the faint gleam of a single swan feather dropped on the wet grass with his voice. He sang with only the breeze and grasshoppers for accompaniment. The wind was playing with lace curtains. The song outside died for a moment, as if waiting until Legolas ends his tale.

Elrond just stared at the wall deeply moved, while Arwen's eyes became teary. Glorfindel closed his eyes and bowed his head, surrendering to the overwhelming spell of Legolas' voice.

When the last note died into silence, Legolas bowed his head as he usually did. Arwen wiped her tears away with an embroidered handkerchief and Glorfindel sighed while taking Legolas' hand in his. From Elrond there was no response.

"That was the most beautiful song I have heard in a long while," Glorfindel said.

"Where have you learned that?" Elrond said when he finally stirred.

"In Mirkwood, as a child. Titinne sang to me." he replied hesitantly.

"You are young," Glorfindel said in amazement. "That tale is so old that I thought only someone much older would know of it. You are a very talented elfling."

"You sing with great sadness," Elrond said. Legolas understood that was the only verdict he will get from his Master right now.

Much, much later Legolas was tottering on the chair, very sleepy. He kept catching himself of thinking about his warm bed only. As he slept in it once, he was sure it was the best bed not only in Imladris, but in whole Middle Earth. He curled into the chair as he felt his eyes grow heavy. The alluring music was so peaceful and airy. The kisses of the night breeze were on his brow. And he knew that in the presence of Arwen he is safe. He dozed off, unable to stay awake any longer.

He awoke suddenly, feeling a warm touch on his cheek. It was Lord Elrond's hand, soft and inviting, his thumb gently stroking the pale skin. Elrond was leaning to him, seated in his armchair, as the others watched him with smiles on their faces.

"It is after midnight, you must be getting tired," Elrond said.

Legolas nodded and subconsciously leaned into his touch. All day was so stressing and even this evening, wonderful as it was, had kept him on the edge of his seat. He just wanted to sleep. Gentle touch slowly lulled him to sleep, as nimble fingers brushed his temple, combed through his hair and stroked an exposed neck. It felt really… good.

Suddenly an internal alarm jerked Legolas awake as he realized that it is his Master who is touching him in this alluring way. Legolas straightened on the chair, eyes wide as saucers, violently rubbing his neck in the place when Elrond's fingers petted him. The hand was removed immediately, and Legolas slowly bent his head in shame, realizing that he reacted quite inappropriate to the kindness he was shown.

"I'm so sorry, Master," he whispered afraid of the possible offend. All his sleepy state evaporated.

Lord Elrond seemed disappointed.

"And I thought you have finally trusted me."

"I do trust you, Master," Legolas automatically replied before he could stop himself.

"I told you that lies hold no interest to me," Elrond said, sighing. "I just wanted to wake you delicately, for sleeping in a chair is not the healthiest position."

Elrond's voice was only concerned. Legolas glanced up uncertainly and said his sorry again, this time with his blue eyes.

"Surely it is time to go to sleep. Ada, Lord Glorfindel, I think I should go now," Arwen said, standing up. She came to Legolas who was again bowing to her.

"Here, take this for entertaining us with such a beautiful song," she told him as she pressed her handkerchief into his hand. Before he realized what she was doing, she kissed him on each cheek, bid everyone goodnight and then left the room. Legolas' astonishment made him stare after her with eyes widened in shock; he even forgot to thank properly, which unusual for him behavior made Elrond and Glorfindel laugh quietly.

"You too need to lay down, little one," Elrond said gently so as not to break the spell. "You are tired and it is time to turn in."

/*/

As Legolas was lying under miraculously warm and soft eiderdown, he was staring at the handkerchief. It was still wet from the tears Lady Arwen cried because of his song. He made her cry, and she was so kind that she kissed a slave! It was far too much as for Legolas understanding.

He kicked the eiderdown in frustration, feeling the well known lump in his throat. He felt a desperate battle with himself coming. All in here seemed desperate to make him believe everyone like him and want to help, counting on nothing back. Gentle touch, a real, comforting hug, the dinner, delicate words. From the very beginning, from the moment his Master's hands took off the collar, he has never been hit once. He was never once humiliated or beaten. He wasn't ordered to do any hard work, in fact. Then, when his medicament ended, he wasn't killed, even if owning this was a crime, as Moreth told him. Instead, he was healed. Through four long weeks and few days he was being pampered: seated in his Master's own armchair, covered in luxurious fabric, fed like a King's infant. The very room he was in: he was just _given_ it. Lord Glorfindel messed in his head with that strange talk; but his Master told him more or less the same thing when he was abed and crying at the news he is free. Neremiel seemed to be equally incoherent.

Wait. Free?... No, this cannot be. I am kept close to the Master's chamber, he will soon come and demand service, maybe in a week, but maybe tomorrow. I cannot be free. Why are they going into so much trouble on my account then, why would they spend so much goods and money just for a slave? Legolas turned over in frustration.

He would be alright in a thin shirt, somewhere in the cellars, sleeping on some hay, kept attached to the wall by a chain so that he doesn't try to escape. He wouldn't anyway. His Master healed him, he was good to him, he was the best he could dream of: calm and reasonable. He would never flee from this Master, for he wasn't afraid he would put him through the dungeon again. Only because of this he would do everything just to please him and make him keep his slave. No Mirkwood anymore.

What they were saying couldn't be true. I am not free, I am just a slave, a worse kind, a bastard beget in the bushes, Legolas kept thinking desperately. I was made to serve betters. I was given fair hair and slender body for others to use it, that's simple and plain. I know the truth, he mused.

If so, why they want me so desperately to believe in what they are saying…? Why? What will they do, if I believe it? How will they use it against me…?

He was so confused that it hurt physically. Loneliness was more than he could handle, blocking his breath with a passive force of grief. There was not even one person he could really trust and turn to. Feeling so completely alone, he bit into the pillow and broke down in tears.

Even if they turn on me later, Legolas thought under the assault of his own tortured mind, they had done so much for me. I am overstepping my place. I am too bold. It's not my place to judge, to find answers, to avoid being punished. My part is to listen and to get what they are giving, my part is to do what they are saying. Whatever they do with me… I am ready to take it. I am a slave.

Legolas shuddered fiercely, a sob breaking free, a bit too loud than it should be. Legolas hid his head under the quilt, pressed it to his mouth and shaken with wave after wave of pain, cried himself to exhausted sleep.


	9. Violin sound

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

DISCLAIMER II: the used fragments of songs belong to The Dubliners. I used them without permission, but I hope good old Irish won't sue. Titles of the songs go: "Rocky Road to Dublin" and "Farewell to Carlingford". I find the names of Irish towns surprisingly Tolkien-fitting^^

WARNINGS: None.

Chapter 9: VIOLIN SOUND

/*/

That day was promising to be bad. The morning was unexpectedly cold for summer and the thick mist coated the valley leaving everything around feeling damp. Legolas shuddered from the cold when he poked his head from under the quilt. He did not want to leave the warmth of his bed, but feared the possible consequences of staying. He curled tighter just for a second, trying to shake himself off the foggy sleep. He counted slowly to ten and tried to keep the sore eyes open through it, yet to no avail. He was just still tired.

And then he heard it.

Violin. Somebody was playing violin, very, very quietly, but when he tried to hear better, pushing the eiderdown aside, only silence was around. He froze, trying to catch any sound by his keen ears, which have never disappointed him.

Well, until now. Legolas sighed and discarded the last remnants of sleep, miserably getting up and dressing in his casual household clothes. Suddenly he heard it again; Legolas stopped frozen with half pulled on leggings to listen. The sound was light, quick and merry with subtle undercurrents interwoven in a main melody. The music was first slow, lazy even, but then quickened only to disappear before he could hear better. Legolas finished dressing when the music stopped again and wondered who could play at this early hour somewhere in the gardens, for that was from where the sound came. He had not seen any here yet who played violin. He liked the sound a lot, and recognized the instrument quickly, for he had heard musicians playing on it in Mirkwood for the King's amusement. He looked through the window, then walked on the balcony. He didn't see anyone. Puzzled and still not fully awake he left his room. Looking out of the window in a hallway he noticed the mists begin to rise. It might turn out to be a good day after all, he thought. He rubbed his arms and went downstairs.

/*/

"Well in the merry month of May from me home I started, left the girls of Tuam nearly broken hearted…" the girl muttered under her breath, stirring the fire to full awakeness. The ground was damp with pearly dew, and so was her hair and clothes from laying on the ground in a thin bedroll.

"Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother…" she continued, having the fire finally burning. She took a waterskin from where it was attached to the horse's saddle and petted the two soft ears of a brown-spotted mare, who neighed friendly at her and pushed her back with her head. The girl took a sip from the waterskin, supporting herself on the mare's side.

"Drank the pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother… and off to reap the corn, to leave where I was born…"

A small pack with dry sausage and half of rather old bread appeared, fished out of the leather bag attached to the saddle. The mare glanced at her owner with big, brown, pleading eyes. The girl offered her the bread, ripping off smaller portions and moving them near the good-natured muzzle of the horse. "…to banish ghosts and goblins…"

The sun was rising, making the wonderful view of the valley ethereal. Light seeped from between the quickly disappearing clouds, staining the far away buildings and fields with fair color. The trees were already dry at the top. The ground still smelled of wet earth, and the first yellow marigolds shyly rose their golden heads to bloom.

"And one two three four five, hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road… whack fol lol dee ra." The girl sang, then finished off the poor breakfast and patted the furry back. "Come on, Roachie. Time for us to go. Uncle Elrond is awaiting!"

/*/

The kitchens were even more lively today, if it was even possible. The merry mood and excitement was almost possible to feel in the air. Legolas wondered at the happy change, eating his sandwich in silence. Neremiel passed him by wishing him good morning but did not stay to talk with him as always, hurrying to her obligations. She let him know where Erestor was and left him to eat in peace. A little confused and still missing his warm mattress, Legolas left the kitchens to obtain his assignments for the day as well.

"How are you doing, Legolas?" Erestor asked him kindly when he approached. He called to someone over the noise in the kitchens and turned his full attention to Legolas.

"Good, thank you, Sir," the Elf answered meekly. "Where will I be helpful today?"

Erestor thought for a minute, but then shrugged, really puzzled.

"You know, I haven't planned anything bigger to do today… And I have enough hands here or in the other parts of the palace, so maybe you will go assist Lord Elrond? Maybe he needs help with something. No councils today, so he is buried in his herbs and books, and I recall him asking me to bring something from the gardens."

Legolas nodded, bowed and obediently trotted upstairs to his Master's rooms. On his way he met Glorfindel, dressed in his favorite white tunic - he looked especially handsome in it. He was humming while walking, and his stroll was strangely brisk today. Legolas grew suspicious; the Elven Lord had also braided his hair and put on a new pair of shoes, made of soft, fair leather. Legolas arched an eyebrow in mute awe, walking behind the Elven Lord and waiting to be noticed. They met under Elrond's door.

"Oh good morning, Legolas!" Glorfindel said. "I didn't see you! Why didn't you call me? Or at least shoved in the back," he laughed. Legolas smiled only lightly, yet a smile it was.

"Good morning, my Lord." he returned. "And how could I."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and opened the chamber door, inviting Legolas with a gesture to go first. The Elf hesitated; he couldn't comply and disrespect the Lord, and yet – not walking in could be considered as an offence too. Legolas hated situations as such. He went noticeably red in seconds, remaining bowed. Glorfindel sighed silently and walked inside Elrond's chamber, his mood dampened a bit; Elrond was watching them with an unreadable expression.

"Good morrow, Glorfindel," he said kindly with his deep and calm voice. "It's good to see you, Legolas. What brings you to me?"

Legolas closed the doors behind him as he came in. Now he stood near the entrance, folding his hands behind his back, looking at the ground in nervousness.

"Sir Erestor ordered me to present myself to you, Master, so that I could be of use should you need anything" he said quietly. Glorfindel grimaced discreetly at the submissive tone and form of the sentence, but Elrond shot him a warning glance.

"Come in. Indeed I would like some help in the gardens, I need some fresh herbs. We shall go together and I will show you a few of them, so that you could help me in the future and fetch them if needed, alright?" the Lord asked, smiling beckoningly. Legolas nodded happily, glad both of the calm tone Elrond used when formulating the task and the promise to go to the gardens. Some herbs were planted in Elrond's private part of the gardens and Legolas has never been there before.

"Glorfindel," Elrond turned to his friend then, "what happened that you managed to look so outstanding today?" he asked teasingly.

"Violin comes to the town," Glorfindel replied. "The news made my nerves good. Finally some adrenaline."

"Oh yes, I heard," Elrond sighed and sat at his desk, searching for something in a thousand of tiny drawers.

"You are not glad…?"

Elrond closed his eyes briefly. "Of course I'm glad. Only, this is going to be a little difficult. I wonder how to act now and a serious worry conquers the excitement. Besides, it is not said she will come today. Last time it took her three days to finally appear in town."

Glorfindel bridled up. Elrond glanced at Legolas' direction.

"Legolas, you are still standing near the door." The healer said. "Come here, come closer. Please."

Obediently coming and putting his hand into the extended one of his Master, Legolas dared a shy glance in his eyes.

"You are not showing any disrespect by acting normally. You don't have to stay upright all the time, hiding in a corner so that no one can see you. Come closer, use the chair, participate in the talk. It's alright, really."

Legolas sighed and nodded; not far away stood the armchair he was always seated in before and so he glanced at its direction. Elrond smiled. Only then Legolas dared to sit down. Glorfindel shook his beautiful head silently and walked over to the table, where Elrond was brewing something in a small kettle standing on a metal tripod.

"What, in the name of Elbereth, is this?" he asked.

"Don't touch it!" Elrond warned. "No, no, Glorfindel…! I told you: don't touch it." Glorfindel sent him an icy scowl, leaning over the kettle and stirring the content with a spoon. He gathered a little of it and stared at the green pulp.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to eat it." He said, scowling at Elrond.

"It's not supposed to be stirred."

"Alright, not touching," the blond seneschal said, turning his attention to another bowl standing there, this time containing white, pearly powder, and extended a finger to poke it with distrust.

"Glorfindel!"

"I didn't do anything!" Glorfindel defended himself, lifting both hands in the air.

All of sudden the violin sound repeated itself again. This time it was clear and audible, coming from the direction of the woods near the main gate of the town. The sound was quick and merry, the melody bursting with unhidden energy as it came quicker and quicker. Both Elf Lords glanced at the window. Elrond straightened and closed his eyes.

"And there she is," Legolas heard him mumble. The Lord came closer to his armchair, gestured him to stand up and guided him onto the balcony, where Glorfindel was already leaning over the balustrade.

The sound stopped, yet the agitation was still present. Someone riding a white and brown spotted horse was slowly approaching the town. The Elves waited at the balcony until the person could be seen; at first small, tiny like a porcelain figure, then a bit bigger as it was approaching. Elflings came out of the houses, looking curious as the person rode through stone-lined alleys; a few Elves recognized the girl and greeted her. She dismounted and walked near her mare. Legolas saw her smile and shake hands, wave to someone standing on a balcony above her head.

When the strange girl came closer and Legolas saw her better, he thought she was nothing he could expect. She was wearing rough, brown trousers and high boots. She was tightly bound around her waist with a wide strap of black leather; a corset, Legolas finally recognized. Her brown hair was knotted at the base of her neck. Her face was yet too small to see. The mare walking near her was of a strange kind, the Elf decided. He had been taught about horses, their kinds, breeding and keeping; he listened carefully to Imladris' stable boys and learned what he could. The mare was too small and stumpy to be from Rohan, or from Mirkwood blood of huge battle horses; yet the long mane and the lavish tail indicated just that. She could be bred somewhere in the North, but she was far too muscled for that. The colors were totally unfitting to any of the races he knew. Yet it was the way of walking of the horse which surprised Legolas the most. The girl didn't hold the reigns. The mare was just obediently walking near her, head to head, like a fellow, rocking slowly and lazily waving her beautiful, thick tail.

Finally the girl came close enough to the gates of the palace and Glorfindel abandoned his place at the railing, bursting out of Elrond's study with a loud slam of the doors. Elrond grimaced at the sound, his delicate ears not being fond of the noise. He shook his head and watched with Legolas as Erestor ran out of the palace to the courtyard.

The guards spoke friendly to the girl, asked a few questions, which she answered sharply. Laughter followed, as she let them to scour her; she carried a strange blade attached to the saddle, slender and curved, seemingly too fragile to hurt anybody. Finally the guards let her go and she ushered her horse on the courtyard, smiling brightly to Erestor, who was opening his arms and laughing.

"Verién, at last you decide to come, you vixen you."

"Erestor," she laughed as she greeted him, patting his back. Seeing Neremiel running out of the palace, she cried out with joy and hugged the girl tightly, lifting the much smaller and thinner creature up until her feet weren't touching the ground. Neremiel shrieked girlishly and kissed her on both cheeks. Their greeting was interrupted when Glorfindel appeared, running down the stairs.

"Verién!" he cried as she jumped into his embrace. She laughed and cried to be put down as he raised her over his head and spun her around. When he finally let her go, he playfully spanked her in the bottom and was immediately rewarded with a kick in the shin.

"Glorfindel, you're evil! Just evil, and you know it!" she said laughing.

"Of course I am, and you haven't changed at all. The same sound as ever!" he said.

"Crazy old fool" she said as she kissed him once again.

"Old? OLD? Do I look like someone who is old? Hey, where are you going!" he called after her.

"To see my uncle!" she called back.

Glorfindel followed as she run quickly to Elrond's rooms through the polished floor of marble corridors. It was a long way, yet surprisingly quickly Legolas heard her footsteps near the doors. Elrond turned to his room, but Legolas hid behind the wall of the balcony; he didn't want to be seen, not exactly knowing why. He watched the whole scene with a smile, but also with a painful sting of envy in his heart. He didn't feel like meeting anyone new. He didn't want to be introduced and submitted to a strict judgment of the girl's keen eyes. He stayed in hidden.

Elrond and the girl met in the middle of the room; she just fell into his awaiting arms and stayed like this for a while, enjoying the reunion. When Legolas heard Elrond's voice, it was slightly shaky with emotions. That surprised Legolas; he had never suspected his powerful Master can feel something so trivial like emotion or do something such undignified like crying.

"Verién," he whispered, and the girl smiled into his hair.

"My uncle. My dear, dear uncle. I missed you so much!"

"I missed you too," he said. "But you are home at last. Verién, I want to let you know that I am sorry."

She wriggled out of the embrace and shook her head. "No. No more speaking of this. We won't be speaking of it again, nothing happened, probably you were right, as always. Let's not speak about it, please. Forget it!"

"I haven't seen you for three years!" he replied.

"I know" she whispered.

"Where have you been? With whom? And how did you…" he stopped as he saw her disappointed look.

"Oh I love you, uncle," she finally said after they had stared at each other several minutes. Elrond hugged her close and buried his face in her shoulder as he tried to restrain his questions.

Legolas just couldn't believe what he was seeing. His Master so vulnerable! Who is this girl anyway, how dare she just come like this and… change him so?

Not knowing a thing about this strange female intruder and feeling completely unsettled and insecure, Legolas stayed on the balcony until she ran out of Elrond's study with a whirlwind of laughter and joy to greet others in the palace. Elrond sighed quietly, stood few more minutes alone, but quickly returned to his spot by Legolas' side and his charge saw that his eyes are glistening slightly. Yet it was not from sadness, for his face was calm and content. A moment he kept staring into the distance, the golden fields and meadows between steep walls of the mountains, and when he turned to Legolas finally, his voice was normal again, maybe only a bit happier.

"Do you still want to follow me into the gardens?" he asked kindly. Legolas nodded. "Then come. I am going to show you a few of those tiny plants which helped to save your life, dear boy. I hope Erestor will provide us with a basket of sorts." Elrond smiled and led Legolas out of the room.

/*/

All day the household was in such a merry mood that Legolas actually felt strange. It was becoming unnerving, all this constant whispers, jaunty gossips, people laughing and doing their work in a hurry. The dinner was served on time, as always, but even Belithravien was uncareful enough to sear the goose, for she was doing three things at once, including a big, wonderful, rubicund apple pie. Legolas could not stop wondering at it. She had always been baking straight after breakfast, so that the cake could be served after dinner. He didn't understand a thing.

The lack of knowledge of this new, strange guest was the worst. What was this talk with his Master about? He was eaten by curiosity, but too proud and too far above that to ask someone or listen to the gossips. The violin sound traveled through the house, and he was getting more and more angry. Finally he moved out from the palace to the stables, where he could think in peace and do his work uninterrupted.

He knew why he is so angry. It was envy. Envy of being as welcomed and as cheerful as this lucky girl. Nothing more. It was his past again which was beginning to weigh down on him, not the strange guest in the house. Yet consequently he couldn't bring himself to like this new maiden in Elrond's household. It was strange, he never reacted that way before; but he much preferred to stay out of her way. Legolas sighed; even his own imagination couldn't place him in a position of someone loved to that extent. Who would ever greet him like this, had he come home? What home, actually?...

"I don't have a home," he whispered to the golden foal he befriended recently. "And I just feel bad because my Master thinks now of this strange girl, not of me. I had never thought I would like my Master to remember about me. I always much preferred to be forgotten, that meant no punishment and some peace. And now? Look at me. I yearn for a place in thoughts of my _Master_," he complained miserably.

The foal put the velvety nose in a close neighborhood of his palm, clearly intending to force him to stroking. He did, smiling bitterly.

"All the time in the gardens he was smiling," Legolas said slowly. "He rarely smiles, actually. I mean: truly smiles. Smiles because he wants, because he is in a good mood, not because courtesy demands it. She… she had made him smile," he sighed. "So… she is important. To him. To… them. To him."

A sound of hooves and a soft neigh behind his back interrupted him. It was this strange, brown-spotted mare. She was let loose, without a harness or a bit; she gave Legolas a long, curious stare, went over to the bucket of water standing near the wall, drank deeply and slowly turned back to march through all the length of the stables to the open stall doors, leading to a paddock. There she went, giving the fresh grass her full and only attention.

Legolas thought for a moment whether he should usher her to a box or not, but had no idea how he could do it, since the mare didn't have any harness on. He couldn't just jump on her back and lead her to the box. He had no idea how to ride a horse. Once again he felt totally useless.

"See, little one…?" he said sadly. "What kind of an Elf am I? I cannot even ride on horseback. A sight to behold, indeed." He sighed and walked away to prepare a stall for a new guest. He could do this much, at least.

/*/

It was getting dark when Legolas decided to return to the palace. He spent several hours in the stables, feeling more secure and less lonely among kind animals.

The evening brought new surprises. The kitchens were lit brightly, the crowd of Elves filled the main hall densely and sounds of music, laughter and fun were beaming from the kitchen wing. Legolas cast a glance into the hall hesitantly. It seemed like the whole household was gathered here this night. The Elves were clapping hands to the rhythm of the merry melody played on violin; in the middle of the big room two or three tables were joined together, and on that tables stood Verién. She was flying the bow on the strings and singing loudly, cheerfully, a song which didn't fit subtle Elven ways at all. It was a common chant, Legolas heard humans sing like that often in Mirkwood. But not that merrily.

_When I was young and in my prime,  
And could wander wild and free.  
There was always a longing in my mind  
To follow the call of the sea...  
_  
_So I'll sing farewell to Carlingford and farewell to Greenore  
And I'll think of you both day and night...  
'Till I return once more, 'till I return once more!_

_On all of the stormy seven seas,  
I have sailed before the mast.  
And on every voyage I ever made  
I swore it would be my last!_

_So I'll sing farewell to Carlingford and farewell to Greenore  
And I'll think of you both day and night...  
'Till I return once more, 'till I return once more!_

Others began to join in with their own instruments as those without were singing and dancing. There was happy laughter all around. Glorfindel was in the hall too; soon, as the others picked up the melody, he pulled the girl down from the tables and began dancing with her, turning her around and stomping loudly to the rhythm. The girl set her violin aside and danced, matching her moves to him, parodying his movements. They ended up laughing so much that they could not dance anymore. Catching her breath, she gathered up her violin and began again.

_Now, the landsman's life is all his own,  
He can go or he can stay.  
But when the sea gets in your blood,  
When she calls you must obey! _

Legolas saw that Neremiel is coming from the corridor behind his back, so he slid into the hall and hid behind a wide column. From this spot he could watch all the gathering and not be forced to participate. He briefly thought he should find Erestor and tell him he can be of use yet, not to be accused of playing truant here with the crowd, but he saw that Erestor himself is here, sipping on the wine and sitting informally on the table._  
_

Neremiel with a few more Elves carried a cake and other refreshments into the room. Legolas noticed some pots of juice; he was a bit thirsty, but he wouldn't dare to touch the wine. He wondered if he could have some of the juice, though. The Elves placed the treys on the tables and chairs near the wall, and came to the happy crowd in the middle. Legolas decided to wait, unsure yet if they won't suddenly find him and make him join them. That would be horrible.

Soon Verién stopped playing, leaving continuing to others. Neremiel handed her some refreshments and she was quickly involved in a excited talk about all newest happenings in Imladris. The three-year absence seems like a day to an immortal Elf, but Verién seemed very interested about every detail. She listened carefully, asking tons of questions. Glorfindel brought a chair and pulled the girl on his lap, holding her tightly in the middle and adding his brilliant remarks to discussion now and then.

The atmosphere was light and merry, everyone enjoyed themselves. Legolas could see Erestor telling either funny stories or jokes in a far corner of the hall. Legolas dared to relax; no one paid attention to him, so he dared to venture out for the juice and a piece of the cake. Listening to the conversations, laughter, songs and music he nestled behind the column. This evening started to be to his liking, even.

He tried to overhear anything which could give him some information about this strange, new guest. He didn't find out much, the girl was very reluctant to speak about herself. Only when Lady Arwen came and joined the merriment, she revealed a little about what she was doing through the past three years. Arwen diplomatically chose words in which she asked and was gentle enough not to pry too much. Legolas once again wondered at her delicacy and tact. And beauty. Comparing the two maidens right now, coming from the same family – Verién turned to Elrond per 'uncle' – Legolas saw a huge difference. Near the subtle, ethereal beauty of Evenstar Verién looked… pitiful. In fact, even near Neremiel or other girls of the household her looks paled. She wasn't ugly, no. But there was something wrong about her, as if the very light chose to avoid her and shine on the Elven maidens around rather than on a girl who has just came out of the bushes and roads. Legolas frowned, feeling actually sorry. Eventually he found in his clenched heart some good thoughts for Verién.

/*/

He stayed in hidden for a few hours more and had great fun. He finally relaxed, ate one more piece of the apple pie, found enjoyment in listening. Verién sang many more songs. Towards the end of the night, when all were more or less tired, the household started to chant: "E-re-stor! E-re-stor!" and push him onto the table.

"No, not today. I will not," he began to protest as they continued.

"Erestor, please," Verién begged as she dragged him back to the middle. "Do it for me. Everyone knows you tell the best stories."

"No… Come on, let Glorfindel tell you once again how did he kill the Balrog and covered his name in immortal glory, he is writhing on his seat, awaiting your encouragement."

"You, my friend," Glorfindel said, "are laying a joe-job at me."

"Erestor, please. Just one, short story. Don't make us beg." Arwen smiled gorgeously, which probably melted Erestor's heart, for he struggled feebly for a few more minutes and finally surrendered.

"Alright, alright! Now silence, all of you!" he called. Thunderous applause and laughter greeted his announcement before he began.

Erestor was brilliant as he was telling the story. He was a master of detail, switching voices for different characters and weaving hilarious digressions. All were entrapped within his story despite the late hour; it was a funny, light tale, easy to follow, perfectly suitable for a party evening like this.

Many Elves slowly and quietly fell asleep were they had laid or sat to listen. It was about three at the morning, so it was natural that most of them were sleeping. Legolas briefly thought that for the first time breakfast shall be a little later than usually, fighting with his heavy eyelids, almost sealed with sleep. Yet the story was so beautiful, he couldn't just fall asleep…

Coming into the hall quietly like a soft shadow, Lord Elrond appeared towards the end of the tale. He smiled at the sight of Erestor and most of his household asleep on the floor around him like small children around their father. He waited in the corner to listen to the rest of the story, sending his old friend a fond smile and pointing Glorfindel with his eyes, who fell asleep stretched on the chair, with Verién curled on his lap. Erestor bit his lower lip not to snort with laughter.

Elrond spotted Legolas behind the column, fighting hard not to succumb to his fatigue; he was desperately fighting sleep to hear the rest of the story. He was listening to what Erestor was saying with glowing eyes. Elrond thought sadly that he must have rarely heard stories in his childhood.

Erestor ended his tale finally and Elrond bowed to him in silent appreciation. The head of the household slid down from the table, where he was sitting, circled the sleeping Elves and bid Elrond good night, winking on Legolas, who had just noticed his Master. He tried to stand up and bow, but was so sleepy that his head was spinning.

"Come, Legolas" Elrond called to him. "I will escort you to you rooms and tuck you into bed."

Legolas rose obediently as he yawned and took the Elf Lord's hand. He even let Elrond to embrace him with one arm to guide him. He was just too sleepy to notice.

"Why were you hiding?" he was asked.

"I would rather listen while others are talking, Master. I also do not dance well," Legolas answered.

Elrond shook his head and glanced at the ceiling direction. Then he looked at the Elf, giving him a bright smile; he saw that Legolas was walking with his eyes closed, letting Elrond guide him. This subconscious trust gladdened him, but he could not afford to have Legolas stumble when basically sleepwalking.

"Wake up, little one" Elrond shook his arm gently. Legolas yawned.

"I no...eeping, m'ster," he mumbled in response. Elrond just smiled and led him into his new chamber. He seated him on the bed and helped to pull off his boots; Legolas did not resist, even when Elrond took his tunic off and lowered him carefully on the bed. The Elven Lord covered Legolas with a blanket and stroked his hair one last time before turning away.

"Goodnight Legolas," Elrond said softly. At first there was no response, so Elrond turned away, but then Legolas rose up onto one elbow.

"Master?" he called.

Elrond stopped.

"Yes?"

Legolas was looking at him for a while, uncertain, like he did not know what to say.

"Goodnight Master," he said finally.

"Sleep well, dear boy," Elrond whispered before closing the door behind him.

/*/

The next morning – few hours later, that is – Legolas woke up. He had overslept a little, he knew. But it was just impossible for him to wake up on time. He suspected that it was an effect of his convalescence, since even the nightmares stopped to let him sleep like dead, exhausted and craving for more rest. Now he still felt so sleepy and tired that getting up seemed unreachable, but somehow he managed. He was barely standing, though.

Some time later he walked out of his room into the strangely quiet corridor and as every morning silently knocked to Lord Elrond's door to let him know that his servant is ready to fulfill his every order. But today Elrond opened the door before Legolas could go downstairs.

"Legolas. Come here, they are all sleeping at the moment." The Elf Lord said gently, inviting him to the room.

"Sleeping?" Legolas asked, dazed.

"Yes... I love this mornings after the party with Verién. Silence in the Last Homely House. Sweet silence until midday..." on Elrond's face appeared a calm expression. Legolas, however, could not remain steady.

"But... your breakfast, Master?" he asked, worried a little.

"Do you suggest I cannot make food by myself?" Elrond glanced at him, amused.

"No… of course not… only, you are an Elf Lord, Master, you should be… "

"…always served?" Elrond ended.

Silence.

"…yes, Master."

Elrond shook his head and picked up a book from the table.

"Look over here." He said casually, pointing a tray with fresh rolls, juice, cheese and other delicious, light foods he had brought for himself earlier. "I supposed you will wake up on time, regardless of how tired you are, so I brought something for you as well. Help yourself, little one. I will await you on the balcony."

Legolas was dumbfound. Elrond walked out and sat in his armchair, burying himself in lecture; as he was paying no attention to his servant and gave him his leave to eat, Legolas sat hesitantly and unable to decide took a piece of everything. It was delicious. And his Master remembered about him. That brought a tiny smile on Legolas' lips, as well as the memory of Elrond leading him to bed yesterday. Legolas realized that he allowed him to do as he pleased, because he himself was too dazed to resist even had he wanted. He surrendered. It wasn't maybe the wisest thing to do, and not the most safe… but Elrond didn't hurt him in any way.

Having ended his breakfast Legolas found himself even more sleepy. Shaking his head as if he had water in his ears, he stood up; the world swayed strangely. Legolas pinched himself in the forearm and regained a little of clearer vision; he headed to the balcony.

The Elf stood near the door and waited. Elrond gestured at the soft daybed standing near the railing, but didn't even raise the perfect gray eyes at his Elf, so Legolas remained where he was, unsure of what to do. He supported himself on the door frame, letting his head rest on the polished wood. When he was certain his Master isn't watching, he dared to close his eyes for a while. Valar, he was so sleepy. He should not have stayed that long yesterday. But... the story was so wonderful... Closing his eyes was bringing a little relief, so he kept drawing reassurance from it. No, I cannot sleep… I should open my eyes and try to wake, he thought. It's not safe, Master can… Master can do…

But he lost the track of time, powerless to fight any more. He just fell asleep, standing.

Elrond glanced at the slender figure standing in the doorway. Legolas had his mouth half-opened, like always when he was asleep. The steady breath prompted that it was indeed sleep, not only a tired stupor; but it couldn't stay this way, one false move and he could fall off his feet. Smiling delicately, Elrond put the book away and approached the figure. Very delicately he embraced him in his waist and supported him to prevent a fall, and then, by stroking his head and whispering, he woke him.

"Legolas... wake up. Wake up, please," he was repeating.

The fair head rose, the unfocused eyes widened in sudden fear and Legolas jerked, losing his balance. Elrond easily caught him before he stumbled and locked in a firm grip of his arms. Legolas shrunk and shielded his head by his arm, whispering something Elrond did not hear, but the tone was panicky enough. Legolas was protecting his head from the blow.

Elrond stopped and stared at Legolas with uneasiness, loosening his grip to let him stand on his own. Slowly, very slowly Legolas bent his arm down and looked at the Elf Lord. The fear had not disappeared from his eyes.

"Legolas, calm down. I mean you no harm" Elrond said finally, breaking the silence.

"… yes, Master," Legolas whispered, but did not bow his head as always, only watched every Elrond's movement; whole his body was tense.

"Why do you fear me?" Elrond asked. "Listen, it is not… I wouldn't do anything, I wanted to wake you, lead you to the bed… you are barely standing on your own. What were you thinking?"

Legolas blinked several times and slowly sank down on his knees. The fair head bent down in mute serfdom.

"I am sorry, Master. I didn't think. I am yours to punish as you want."

Only now Elrond understood how Erestor must have felt the first time Legolas did something like this. Both anger and sympathy started to burn in Elrond's stomach; he quickly pulled the Elf up and without a word led him to the small daybed. Truth be told, he didn't know how to react. They sat down in sticky silence.

"Master…?" Legolas whispered tearfully. "I am sorry…!"

"Legolas, I know you are sorry and confused and terrified, but so am I now." Elrond interrupted him. "I just don't know what to do or say not to scare you further."

Legolas fell silent, looking at his Master with a weird expression. If he had been sleepy before, now he was wide awake, following his Master's every movement with his eyes as hypnotized. Elrond supported his forehead on his palm. He had wanted to suggest that Legolas returned to sleep, but he knew the Elf would not calm down enough for few hours ahead. He closed his eyes, thinking hard how to put his shaken feelings into coherent sentences.

"None of us knows how to behave around you, Legolas." He started with some urgency in his voice. "Or how to speak to you. We don't want to scare you, we try not to give you any impression that we could hurt you. We wouldn't. But still, there is something amiss." Elrond sighed heavily and gained his feet, ready to begin pacing, but seeing that Legolas' eyes go wide and he starts to tremble, he stilled himself. He stopped in front of his charge and leaned to take both his hands in his. He needed to remain calm and unthreatening. "I know this is nothing you can easily understand or accept… I realize how difficult this is. But you should… it would be so much easier if you…"

Elrond stopped. He wanted to say _Legolas should_ _trust him_. Seeing the Elf, Elrond instantly knew it was far too much to ask. And the word 'should' was so unfitting what he really wanted to say.

The Lord sat down heavily again.

Silence engulfed them a little too tightly, to the point it became uncomfortable. Elrond really didn't know what to say, while Legolas was getting more scared with every passing minute. The Lord desperately wanted to do something, anything that would stop this situation from getting worse, but he knew that no words of comfort would really mean anything. He looked at Legolas, whose eyes were observing the floor with endless devotion.

"Oh, Legolas." He sighed. "You don't understand a thing. What have they done to turn you into _this_…?"

At these words Legolas stirred. He swallowed nervously and agonizingly slowly he raised his eyes to Elrond to give him a glance in which fear mingled with something unspoken.

"Master… I'll do anything, I swear… don't be angry with me, I beg you."

"I'm not angry," Elrond sighed and mindlessly reached to touch Legolas' face, the gesture he would normally bestow upon his own son. The elfling jumped, but did not flee, obviously glued to the daybed by sheer willpower. Elrond cupped his cheek paying no attention to the trembling. "I am not angry, I'm… desperate to make you understand. I'm afraid if you keep this up, I will not be able to help you." He said.

"What did I do wrong…?" Legolas queried as if he didn't hear, confused about what had upset his Master so. Elrond closed his eyes.

"It's not about doing something wrong, Legolas. It's about you trusting me."

"I do trust you, Master."

"How can you trust someone who is supposed to be the one to abuse you?" Elrond sighed. "I know it's too much to ask, I know you're incapable of doing so… but if you trusted me only a little, you would believe me when I say I will not be beating you."

Legolas' eyes wandered to the floor again. Elrond sighed and fell silent for a minute. Finally he decided to try and ask, but wasn't expecting Legolas' cooperation.

"Don't get scared… I want to talk with you now. About you. About… your past. Can we do that?" he asked silently, searching for his eyes.

Legolas froze. If he was not breathing in irregular, quick intakes of breath, one could think he is a statue of an Elf, not a living being. At Elrond's gentle call he closed his eyes and nodded with what seemed an enormous effort.

"It's not an order, Legolas," Elrond tried to explain. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I would really appreciate some information, some knowledge about what had happened to you. It's just…" he hesitated.

"Physically you did a good recovery. You are healthy again. You can move around easily. But mentally you are still unwell." Elrond tried again, aware that Legolas' eyes rested on him and were observing his face. "I am a healer. My work, my wish is to help and heal. But I cannot reach you. You have closed yourself from everyone, staying in your little world of pain, which isn't real. I feel I am losing you, that you may be fading. Dying from grief," he explained emphatically, noticing a confused glance with a mute question. "I cannot heal you. You are sitting inches from me, I can touch your face, yet I cannot touch _you_. So please… please, give me a chance and open. I don't know how to help you, because I don't know what happened to you. You have never told me about Mirkwood, about this stay in the dungeons which made you into four weeks of bed confinement. Please, tell me about it, try to believe that I only want to understand you better."

Legolas was observing Elrond without blinking for a long while.

"A Master doesn't say please…" he whispered finally.

"But I do. Please, tell me about Mirkwood." he repeated again, and Legolas hid his face in hands. This one word seemed to upset him a lot, for he started to shake a little. Elrond put a hand on his shoulder, trying to break through the defenses built inside of him. "Please…?" he repeated, squeezing delicately. Legolas started rocking back and forth, without even realizing it. "Please, open up to me. I want to help you. Only help you… Please…"

Elrond gathered the unresisting body into a tight embrace, unable to withhold himself any longer. He thought that Legolas would wrench free, but he didn't; was this that first display of trust the Lord was asking for…? Legolas rested on his arm and started to sob quietly, or so Elrond thought, judging from the irregular inhales and frequent sniffing. The Elf Lord's hands slowly stroked the blond head and a thin arm, where they could reach without loosening the embrace. Elrond took up the rocking, whispering delicately. This slow movements seemed to help.

After a while Legolas quieted. This outburst was surprising even for him; he never planned to open himself so, to show himself that vulnerable, it just happened. He knew he was being seen as someone who wouldn't survive on his own either way, but he just wasn't ready to reveal himself on his own free will. He wasn't ready for any conversation about his past, especially about his stay in the Mirkwood dungeon. He was sure that knowing all the details, his good and merciful keeper would surely feel only disgust.

Legolas faced the bitter truth, allowing Elrond to touch him and hold that close: he got attached to his kind Master. He got used to him being thus. He needed him like that. The simple thought that he may turn away from him was terrifying and filled the little creature with such pain that the tears started to run anew.

"Legolas… I just want to help…"

A sob was swallowed by the thick, richly embroidered fabric covering Elrond's breast. What an abomination I am, the Elf thought. This is my Master. And I… what am I doing? What do I expect? How can I look for sympathy in someone who is supposed to… abuse me?

"Listen, child… I cannot even imagine how hard this is for you. And I know I am being horrible by pushing you now. But please. Tell me everything, from the beginning. Tell me about Mirkwood." Elrond's thoughts were scattered as never, trying to find argumentation. What may this elfling fear, why doesn't he yield? Elrond searched through his head, recalling their previous talk. "I won't judge you," he said in a flash of intelligence. "I won't send you away, I won't punish you for anything, I won't leave you alone. This I promise."

Legolas looked up, blinking out salty droplets from his eyelashes. He sniffed quietly, clumsily trying to wipe his eyes and nose with his sleeve without breaking the body contact. He couldn't forgive himself, but if Elrond was to let him go, he would not find the strength to rise again. He needed to feel this protective embrace, even if it was only an illusion. Because once he told him…

"Once I tell you, Master," he sniffed, "you will be disgusted. You will want to leave me alone. And either you will send me away or demand service. I am certain."

Elrond sighed. He had had doubts at the beginning, but when he saw the extent of abuse, he became sure that the dungeon stay was not a just sentence executed by law.

"I doubt I would find your blame, if there was one at all, big enough to excuse what they had done to you." he whispered to the pointed ear. "Tell me. Tell me everything. We will find a solution. I will help you. You won't be alone. Please, little leaf."

Legolas wiped the tears away. He knew he would find no strength to break the contact, it would have to be Elrond who pushes him away in outrage. So be it. The time has come, apparently; these two months he had spent in Imladris were a gift. Like every gift, they couldn't last forever.

"…A-alright," he sniffed, resigned. "I will tell you everything, Master."

Elrond hugged him closer and rubbed his arm in comforting gesture. An unspoken praise reassured Legolas a little, and the focused, calm attention finally forced him to speaking.

"…From w-where to start…?" he asked hesitantly.

"How this all begins? Why were you put in the dungeon?" Elrond asked quietly, burying his nose in a blond mane. He was glad that Legolas didn't wriggle free. He wanted to hold the youth through this.

"My friend, Moreth…" Legolas sniffed. "He had a girlfriend. There was an exhausting illness spreading among us at that time. The medicaments were kept in a small store next to the guards' office on the second level."

Elrond felt Legolas start to tremble. The lithe body was pressed against Elrond's frame in a desperate, tense manner.

"The girl fall ill. They would take her away, for they separated the ill ones from the rest, so that not everyone got infected. I… stole the medicaments. In the night, I stole them." Legolas did not look up to see Elrond's reaction, he was too afraid he would see a displeased expression. "Silcan got better and we went to work as usual. The day before the merchant came to Mirkwood and there was a lot to do. The new transport had been brought and all… The… the merchant demanded too big a price for the King's liking. They agreed that he will pay the half of it and the rest he will provide in other means. I was… I… he… I was…"

Legolas couldn't bring himself to say what had happened. He just couldn't articulate the word. He felt like mute, something choking him so hard that it was difficult to breathe.

Elrond saw ugly red stains forming on Legolas' cheeks and neck. His heartbeat was frenzy. Urgently, but gently the Lord stroked a tearstained cheek.

"You was what? Calm down, little one, calm down. I won't judge. Say it."

"I was made… to serve him," Legolas stammered on the verge of breaking down into sobs anew. "With… my body."

Elrond froze in shock. Legolas must have sensed it, for without looking at his Master, he started to speak very quickly now, to spit it all out, to confront only one huge rejection instead of many smaller ones.

"I lost consciousness, Master, and I woke up in the dungeons. For the stealing I was flogged. But w-when he… that night… I had become a pleasure slave, for I was too spoiled and tainted to return to the household… so they locked me there, in the l-lowest level, to get… further p-punishment and… and the training. I spent almost three weeks there. But I don't… don't remember much… I don't remember, really, I swear… only pictures, flashbacks… a dark room, no water… hunger. I was beaten often." Legolas swallowed thickly. "The next thing I know is the King telling me I will be sent to Imladris to serve its Lord like I served before. I… I came to you as a… as a whore, Master… For you… to use…" Legolas whimpered at the end, his words muffled and misshapen by a heart-wrenching sob. He slid from Elrond's arm to rest his head on the Lord's lap, in a boneless, hopeless heap. The lack of air stopped him from crying for a few moments, then he took a long, shuddering breath which made whole his body lift. He thought he will die from shame.

Elrond was paralyzed. All his worst suspicions were proved correct. What this child had been through, he thought. An awful, icy cold shock gripped his heart with a force he didn't know before as he imagined what Legolas _must have felt_. Valar…!

Have you abandoned Arda at all?...

Legolas was afraid to make a sound lying face down on Elrond's lap. The Lord didn't know if he can touch him, for he had no idea what reaction he would cause. But he just had to feel the warmth of his flesh under his hand, just to know he is alive and still here, _safe_, free of threat.

He touched his arm.

"Legolas…" he uttered with a shaking voice, tumid with tears. Delicately he led the youth to raise from his lap, searching for immediate panic in his eyes, but he found only exhaustion. And the endless, deep sorrow, pain too big to cope with. Resignation.

"All this time you were afraid that you will become my pleasure slave?" Elrond asked. Legolas nodded soundlessly; for the first time from a very, very long time Elrond wished that the other Elf looked down, for he almost couldn't endure this haunted stare.

The Lord shook his head, fighting to get his voice back from the painfully clenched throat.

"No." he muttered. "No, you won't." He reached with his hands again, and this time Legolas moved back, as if in reflex, first stings of alarm in his gaze. "I won't hurt you. I want to hold you." he said with a strained tone.

Legolas made an inarticulate sound and moved closer to Elrond himself, feeling weak with the sudden wave of relief. He met with no rejection.

Again.

Elrond whispered soothing nonsense into his ear, holding his charge close and discreetly using the power of Vilya to put Legolas' heartbeat down a little and ease his breathing. He felt his weakened fingers try to clumsily grab his robe and clench on the fabric, looking for comfort and protection even despite the morbid treatment he had received. Certain phrases kept running through Elrond's head: 'new transport', 'receive training', 'lowest level'. Elrond wasn't so sure if pushing Legolas so soon was wise, but in the same time he was immensely glad it worked.

Legolas sniffed somewhere near his neck, slowly calming down. For the first time Elrond felt how the Elf responds to an embrace, shyly encircling his waist.

"Master…?" he mewled quietly.

"Oh Legolas, I am so sorry for you," Elrond said, rocking the lithe body back and forth. "There is so much I want to tell you. That you are safe. That you will never again be treated like you were in Mirkwood. That there is nothing more to fear. That I would never force myself on you. Nor would anyone in Imladris." Legolas glanced down to avoid his Master's eyes. Elrond tipped his chin up again and stroked the wet cheek.

"There are so many more questions now also…" Elrond sighed. "But we have the time for talking… we have the time for explaining. What I want you to know is that I find no blame in what you did. That girl was ill and you put yourself in danger to save her. You knew what will happen with you for that, didn't you?"

Legolas nodded. "I knew." He sniffed and rubbed his eye with the edge of his sleeve. "Master, I am not a thief, I have never stolen anything before that… I wanted to help Moreth. I would never steal anything from your stores, I swear, I'd never…"

"I know," Elrond interrupted. "I know that. You don't have to explain yourself. What you did was a right thing to do. A brave thing."

Legolas glanced briefly at his Master and immediately looked down. He had never before heard such a praise, and he never really thought that his deed could be anything but a misbehaviour, even if it helped to save a life. His fingers clenched on the front of Elrond's shirt and the Lord gathered him closer.

"Yes, my little leaf. You were very brave." Elrond burrowed his nose in the blond tresses. "Thank you for sharing this with me. Thank you for your trust. I will take care of you, little one, you are safe in Imladris. This won't be happening again. I find no blame in you, and I am certainly not disgusted. I am only worried and sad. You will stay here. I am with you. Everything will be all right."

They stayed like this for a longer while; Legolas didn't try to move back, holding Elrond's robe for dear life, and after a time he dared to close his eyes. The hold on the fabric lessened as he was relaxing, and the tense body rested more fully on Elrond's frame.

"Legolas, little one… you must be exhausted. Aren't you?" the Lord asked quietly. The elfling nodded, his head still pressed against his chest. "You had had too little sleep, that's for certain. How much did you sleep last night, three, four hours?"

"Three, Master" came the muffled answer.

"Then you definitely need to rest. Lie down and try to…" Elrond attempted to stand up, but the hands fisted into his shirt again and the pair of terrified blue eyes held his own for a second. Elrond stopped.

"Come, make yourself comfortable," he came to a decision and sat back. He leaned backwards, supporting himself on the back of the daybed and pulling Legolas to lie against his chest. He took his long, burgundy robe from where it was hanging on a chair and covered Legolas carefully, feeling the creature wriggle next to him and press himself trustfully to where the steady heart was beating. Elrond leaned to take Legolas' boots off. The child curled a little into himself.

"And you, Master…?" Legolas whispered with his mouth pressed against the embroidered fabric.

"I am here for you," he said. "I will just hold you."

"…Nothing more…?" Legolas asked a little worriedly.

"Nothing more. This is just a hug. For your comfort. We will talk some more later."

Legolas nodded again, hiding his face in Elrond's chest and desperately clawing at his shirt with his fingers. Elrond's hands came around him in a strong, silent, comforting gesture, creating a lasting and promising fortress of peace, which Legolas stepped into with endless gratefulness and relief washing over him like a powerful sea wave.

Soon he surrendered to sleep, unable to withhold fatigue any minute longer.

/*/

He awoke two hours later.

Elrond was still holding him with one hand. The other held a book and the nimble fingers were carefully turning the pages. The quiet sound appeared in Legolas' ears like a most wonderful caress. Strangely, he was so at peace; he felt safe. The fingers of his Master's left hand were lazily drawing little circles on the surface of his arm. Legolas realized that it was that small movement that had woken him, but it was a very pleasant wakeup.

He raised his head a little, giving out a small yawn. Lazily he opened his eyes and sighed in content; his Master planted an affectionate kiss on the golden head.

"Better…?" he asked.

"Better." Legolas murmured, taking a deeper breath and rubbing his eye with a finger. He rose his shy, thankful glance at Elrond and whispered to his shirt: "Thank you, Master. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. Stay. It's alright, you can stay." Elrond corrected his position and pulled Legolas onto his chest again. The Elf complied with a calm sigh.

Elrond returned to his lecture, giving Legolas some more time to wake up. The Elf snuggled some more, yawned a few times. Elrond had to smile, observing him.

"You know, I had such a thought…" he started slowly, rubbing Legolas' arm. "Because you just focus at complying other's requests, and it's no good for you… you never ask of anything for yourself."

Legolas raised his blue eyes at his Master. There was little fear in them, but more curiosity. This was a sign Elrond was waiting for: finally some normality.

"I would like you to start communicating starting from today. It would be much easier. You see, we are only guessing; I guess you are comfortable in your new room, but I don't know for sure. I guess the nightmares stopped haunting you. But again, I only guess. This also includes questions: each time you want to ask something, you start to fumble with the hem of your tunic, did you know? But I spend far too little time with you to make sure you ask about something you want to know. So promise me, little leaf. From now on, you communicate. You don't hesitate and wait until someone gives you permission to speak. You just boldly ask. Alright?"

Legolas looked down. He had been asking people when he really needed information. He knew that for example Erestor won't punish him for that. But then, to ask too often would be a lack of respect… Elrond tipped his chin up with two fingers.

"Little leaf."

"Yes, Master," the Elf said. "I will, Master." Suddenly he felt a strange temptation to use his new privilege, hearing another murmur of praise. He thought he could just give it a try.

"Why do you call me 'little leaf', Master?" he asked, automatically going red. He felt awkward, the question strangely stiff and disrespectful on his tongue. Elrond stared at him for a second with a small smile.

"For this is what your name means in Sindarin, Legolas. Green leaf, to be exact, but you are indeed little. This was supposed to be… an endearment. Don't you like it?"

"I do," Legolas said truthfully. He liked to be called thus. It was a pleasant, soothing title, and Legolas had nothing against being called by a pet name. He liked each time Elrond said it with this deep, low voice of his.

"Do every name have it's meaning?" he asked again.

"Mostly," Elrond laughed good-heartedly and his chest rose an fell rapidly under Legolas' warm weight.

Since Legolas thanked quietly and laid his head back on Elrond's arm, the Lord rubbed his back and lifted the book again. He felt really good with the youth near him. He was sure the Elf is safe, that counted. Also, he enjoyed his little, shy presence. Legolas had a strange influence over Elrond. He made him feel like never before. Elrond wanted to shield him, care for him, teach him how to live again, yet in the same time his helplessness and endless submission fascinated him strangely, made him want to possess, to _own_, and it gave a strange seed of worry Elrond was sometimes afraid of. That dream he once had…

It held a little truth... He wanted to keep Legolas close. He found pleasure in the warmth that Legolas was, the softness his skin provided. Beauty of his face and general appearance was awakening each day more. Elrond wanted to be able to _touch_ him.

Today he had him gathered in his arms and he didn't let go of the lithe body since. It was his infamous possessiveness, he knew. Suddenly Elrond imagined Glorfindel holding Legolas like he was doing: immediately his mind rebelled at that thought. No! _He trusts me. Not anyone else. No one can take care of Legolas better than me. No one is allowed to hug him so long and so fierce as me. _

For a second Elrond stared at the boy.

_Had he besotted me…?_

_But no, this could__n't possibly be this way. Let's find some reason. It's just him being so hopeless. I am a healer. I feel obliged to help him. There is nothing wrong in a hug, when he so desperately needs that. If the touch was unpleasant for him or he was scared, he would tremble and pale in fear. He is neither. He is lying here, calm and safe, taking in the comfort I'm giving him, accepting my help, even reaching out for it. Yes, he_ _is accepting me without fear_, Elrond noted, feeling a slender arm still encircling his waist as if it was never to let go.

"Master…?"

"Mhm?" Elrond murmured, still lazily sliding his eyes over the text of the book.

"You are not… angry with me? Or disgusted?"

Elrond decided not to ask why on Arda he thinks that. He knew already. Legolas felt tainted; that's why he had been hurting himself in the bath. Instantly Elrond understood much more than before and knew better than arguing about every little stumble of his self-respect, for it was not what the Elf needed. He was looking for some sympathy and a reassurance, not a scold.

"Legolas, there was no fault in your deed. The things they had done to you… I was terrified when listening. It is called rape, do you know?... It is the worst violation of nature one can commit. If I am outraged, if I am disgusted, it is with them. I am not disgusted with you. Don't ever think that. You are free from blame, and you are innocent."

Legolas nodded somberly. "And… and I will… Master, I can't… It's difficult to… to ask."

"You are not a slave anymore. And especially not a pleasure slave. Clear?"

A nod. A sigh. A quiet sniff.

"Why."

Elrond stared at the huge waterfall in the distance.

"Just because."

Silence. Legolas rubbed his face into Elrond's robe nervously again, after a while.

"And if I… I needed…" he trailed off and the red stains appeared on his cheeks again. "…may I ask you, Master… may I?"

"You can ask anything of me, little one," Elrond caressed the pale, still somewhat tearstained cheek. "Try. Speak to me."

"…may I sometimes come… and would you… would you hold me like today, Master…? Nothing else," he added quickly, his eyes again a little afraid. Elrond's face brightened in a smile.

"Of course," he said. "You may come whenever you need. I am serious. If you are scared, sad, or bored… in the middle of the night, very early in the morning or very late in the evening, during mealtime or my researches… even during councils. I can always call for a break." Elrond's eyes wandered easily around his balcony and a distant sight of his golden land. He heard the first noise coming from downstairs. It seemed like some Elves have awoken at last. "And I will just comfort you. Nothing else. Just like now." Elrond ended, picking up his book again.

Legolas relaxed thoroughly, arranging his limbs more loosely. He dared to uncurl.

Only now Legolas understood he had been allowing body-to-body contact all the time and wasn't scared at all. The very scent of the other male, so unnerving and scary before, wasn't threatening any more. The hand in his hair, playing with his golden tresses, was also no reason to flee. He breathed Elrond again; like that night a few days ago, when he found himself covered with Elrond's thick bathrobe in the morning. He wasn't sleepy any more, and shook his instant tiredness away also, but felt strangely indulgent.

His eyes rested on the book again. The tiny, entangled, thin marks were neatly arranged on the pages. Elrond just followed each line with his eyes, understanding something. Legolas tried to repeat the action, but for him all those marks held no meaning.

"How are you doing this, Master…?" he whispered, aware that it was yet again him speaking out of turn and prepared on a angry reaction this time. But then, he was practically ordered to ask about things.

Elrond stared at him.

"You don't know how to read?" he asked, and his voice for the first time held a strange, indescribable note. His eyes were wide open, as if he saw Legolas for the first time.

"No, Master," Legolas said truthfully. "I don't. Nor can I write. I… wasn't taught…" he said, looking at the book with longing.

Elrond was in shock. For the first time in his life he saw an illiterate Elf. How could this be, the gifted race of the Eldar, deprived everything, even the basic education? Elrond actually never thought that slaves weren't given at least basics. He figured some have to be able to write, letters for instance, or lists of some kind of evidence or something… all his idea of situation in Mirkwood, already torn with the terrible story, shattered in ruin. A slave was just a tool. Not a person. Just a speaking tool. Without feelings. Without rights. Without needs.

A thing.

This child on his lap came from being _something_ to being _somebody_. How could he expect that he knew how to behave…?

"Master?... " the elfling asked. "Did I do something wrong…?"

"No, no," Elrond gathered his charge close again and held close for a moment. "No, Legolas. I'm just a little shocked." After a while Elrond regained his composure. "Would you like me to read you a little?"

"Yes!" Legolas' eyes shone beautifully. "Yes, please, Master!"

And so Elrond did, feeling the soft warmth pressing into him even more, feeling a grin on his chest, where Legolas' mouth were touching his robe. The hands embracing his middle tightened in thanks, the little golden head pressed to the place where the shoulder joined with the neck.

Elrond's voice shook a little. He felt so good.

As if he was not lonely anymore.

/*/

Glorfindel and Verién exchanged puzzled looks. Elrond was sitting on the balcony, reading steadily to a blond male entwined in his red robe, who was lying next to him on a daybed, enchanted with the story. The mighty Lord of Imladris was playing with the boy's hair like he would with his lover's. The blond was encircling him with his arms and lazily caressing the skin of his neck with a steady, warm breath.

"They are sitting like this for hours," Verién whispered. "I saw from my window. The blond one was crying earlier. Heartbrokenly. But they are… so at peace. Who is he?"

Glorfindel observed Elrond with a mix of contradicting feelings. He knew already what his old friend didn't know. And he knew how much tears it's going to bring.


	10. I can take this reason

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: None.

Chapter 10: I CAN TAKE THIS REASON

/*/

"Who is he?" Verién asked in a whisper. Glorfindel shook out of his stupor.

"He is…" he hesitated, but quickly gathered his thoughts. He would talk with Elrond later. "Legolas… The boy came to us about two months ago from Mirkwood. Lathronios gave him to Elrond as a gift, to make up for all he has in debt… Legolas was in terrible state when he came here. He spent four weeks in the healing chamber. We have almost lost him. He started walking only recently."

"A personal slave for uncle Elrond…?" the girl's eyes widened like saucers. "A pleasure slave?... By the Valar!..."

Glorfindel sighed heavily and raised a brow. They suspected few things, but those were never actually confirmed.

"We heard a few things, but he never confirmed anything. I tried to ask, but he is not ready to speak about his past at all. We know nothing, Verién." the Lord said, shrugging helplessly. "From where comes your certainty?"

"I have met few slaves from Mirkwood before. I have listened to stories. I have seen marks and bruises." She whispered, lowering her eyes. "I am old enough to know that such things happen, wisdom of the Elves aside."

Glorfindel frowned. "I'm curious about these slaves you met, but since you won't tell me anything either way, I'll spare myself trouble with asking." He said. Verién sent him an unfriendly stare, showing clearly that she won't answer any questions.

"How is he coping?" she asked.

"Better," Glorfindel sighed, looking back at the blond figure, melted into Elrond's embrace trustingly, unaware of their looks and whispers. "As you see, they have developed… a thread of understanding. But he is weird. Scared of everything, ashamed, and the border of his obedience is impossibly remote. He is managing, but overally… he is far from normal." Glorfindel hesitated. "It's not like we are complaining, no, we're glad that he recovered at all… this is just worrying. He is actually a grown male, but he is like ten-year old inside."

"Yeah, that's normal." Verién sighed and shifted her weight from one leg to another, deep in thought. "Does he have any friends here?"

Glorfindel started. "Eerm… Elrond?" he tried, pointing the couple on the balcony. Verién shook her head.

"Someone from his own class."

"Class?"

"His own level. From the household, maybe?"

"Well, there is Neremiel… Why cannot Elrond be his friend? He is like…"

"…a father, a protector, a kind Master. Never a friend in the basic, carefree meaning of this word. This just won't be, simply. Pity, he could use someone to be his friend…" she murmured. "Maybe he would open sooner."

"He never spends much time with people, he keeps to his room when he is not working." Glorfindel said slowly, thinking over the possibilities. "Although he likes Belithravien, and he spoke with Gwaithtir a few times… but I wouldn't consider them friends, Legolas is afraid of him."

"That actually supports the thesis that he had been raped. He may consider men as a threat, you know."

Glorfindel froze for a moment. It made little sense, but these were only suspicions.

"He never said anything. And, my dear wanderer, I doubt he ever will. All you have are assumptions. And I would advise you not to investigate Elrond or Legolas himself like you have investigated me, for you may actually do more harm than you can imagine. Legolas is in a very fragile state of mind." He sent her a strict gaze. "Elrond is the best of healers. If he couldn't help, no one will. This is the most we could expect from him. Even if he stays like a child to the end, we have no right to push him harder. Are we clear? Don't mess things up."

Verién kept silent for a longer while.

"Ever a tutor." She finally said with some difficulty. "I will keep that in mind, Glorfindel."

"Don't take this to yourself, I just… warn you. You may accidentally cause a breakdown you will not be able to handle. We have seen things also." Glorfindel said, in much more delicate tone.

"I have learnt how to act around the abused, I won't be of any trouble to you." She ascertained.

"Not that I mean to discourage you, but I think you would be exhausted after a day with him." Glorfindel murmured.

"Give me an example."

"Here you are. He will not go first into the room, even if I invited him with a gesture. He will only stay bowed and wait. As if afraid of the blow. It's alright once, twice, but after hours of explaining, he should finally get it. Or at least comply to make us stop admonish him. He does neither."

Verién brushed some of her hair away from her forehead.

"Glorfindel, try to think like he does for a moment. It is you who is acting weird," she sighed, settling for explaining. "Look, of course he won't go first through the door. In his well taught etiquette, taught by an order, a blow and a kick, it is a grievous disrespect. He doesn't want to disrespect you. But then – it is you who does something against etiquette. You are unpredictable. Maybe you want him to go first. In such case staying is bad. But then, even if he complies – he would be turning his back to you and leaving it unprotected. That's an easy chance for a blow from behind…"

"I wouldn't hit him!"

"Quieter. Glorfindel, he. doesn't. accept. that." She frowned. "In his world it is the only way of communication. That's how the high level speaks to the lowest level of society. What you do to him is communicate like a fellow would and so he is confused. You had put no border he can abide. He has no order he can obey. And to obey is all he can do. Without it he's lost."

Glorfindel was silent for a while, but slowly shook his head.

"We cannot continue with the iron discipline he had been taught and he understands. We cannot even yell at him, for he is too defenseless." He hissed back. "He just needs time to get use to the new way, learn the new language of civilized people, just like one learns a foreign tongue."

"Maybe. But waiting is not everything you can do. Think like he does; if you want to help him, you have to predict his inner battles, consider all possible ways of upcoming danger as if it was you who doesn't know how to act. As his protectors, your duty is to understand his way of thinking and to accept it."

"Accept?" he said slowly. "We are accepting him."

Verién bit down her lower lip, searching for comparison.

"I understand you have always been telling him that his way of thinking is wrong, true?" she asked.

"Of course. Every time. And we were explaining." Glorfindel said immediately.

Verién sent him an albeit sad look. "Dear, wise men. You love your honor and righteousness to the point you never thought of simple sympathy." She smiled at Glorfindel's strange expression; he didn't know whether to take it as a praise or a scold.

"See, by doing that, you have only taught him what he is feeling, thinking and doing is not normal. You decided to rip the habit out of him along with the roots. But that way he had met with rejection from your side. You don't accept him as a person he is now."

Glorfindel's eyebrows went skywards.

"And so, this is just the same as it was." Verién said after a while. "The only difference is, the cage turned from steel to golden. Instead of being punished for his mistakes, he is only pampered more to show him this new world is good, while he doesn't think so; and a huge guilt is being born. Do I have to tell you it is a dead end?"

Glorfindel observed her for a while. When he spoke, he hesitated, but being true to his habit of asking direct, sharp questions, he asked either way.

"Aren't you confusing his feelings with your own?"

She didn't look down.

"I'm quite sure I'm not."

"Good." He nodded. "For I would rather be sure than only assume that something is amiss in _our_ behavior and suddenly turn his world upside down basing on an unconfirmed suspicion."

"No one speaks about turning his world upside down," Verién said. "It was just a useful prompt. A broader outlook from someone outside."

Glorfindel nodded in appreciation. The girl spared Legolas a longer stare, assessing his curled figure and slender hands clutching Elrond's robe desperately.

"Two months, say you…? That's quite alright… He needed much time to recover physically, I suspect." She sighed. "And uncle seems to be quite fond of him, doesn't he?" she added in much happier tone.

"Yes, he is. Legolas couldn't find a better protector." Glorfindel said somewhat gloomily.

"Protector, yes… but he needs a friend," Verién said. "Not someone above him, like you are. Someone from outside. Someone he could trust. Someone who understands and listens. And a girl, definitely."

"Why is that?" Glorfindel asked, but suddenly understood and quickly looked away. "None of us would hurt him that way again…"

"But you think like _you_!" she shrugged. "You need to think like him. For him, you are all potential threats, kind to him or not. Accept his way of thinking. It is not wrong. What they did to him is wrong, but the result, _he_, his psyche, his comprehension is not _bad_."

"But we want him to become _better_ than that."

Verién nodded.

"Of course. But what if he is just… blocked by all this expectations? He won't make any progress knowing he has to. This is completely new and scary, so his mind is protecting itself with stubborn obedience." She explained.

"You want to say that this has to be his own choice to come out of this stupor, not any order. It's a truth he has to find himself." Glorfindel finished. "Yes, that makes sense."

They were both silent for a moment, watching the two on the balcony. Now, in silence, they could hear a steady and monotony voice of Elrond, reading from the book he was holding.

"Elrond is afraid… that Legolas is fading."

"Nah… Nothing as easy as that." the girl said slowly. "He isn't glowing, is he?" at Glorfindel's nod she continued. "So you see. Only Elves can fade from grief. And Legolas, being treated more like an animal through all these years, lost some of the typically Elvish features… some are unable to fade. It's even worse, for they have to live in that state of continuing pain. On the other hand, some fade so quickly that it's difficult to say, was it fading or was it just because of the wounds and exhaustion…? He is alive, and I see that he had at least attempted to adapt. At this point… he will not fade."

Glorfindel didn't know what to say at this revelation.

"Elrond will be glad at least of this… he is attached to him."

"Yeah, they look like lovers." Verién whispered with a smile.

"By the Valar, don't tell your uncle such a thing…"

"But of course. It's your job." The girl said, completely serious.

Oh yes, I will have to speak with Elrond, but this, my little wisdom well, is none of your concern anymore, Glorfindel thought and frowned, patting the stone threshold with the tip of his leather shoe. Oh, Elrond will get mad again, he predicted bitterly.

"It's just… uncle better wait with any show of affection… Legolas would ran away in fright." She whispered hesitantly.

"Verién, leave this to me." Glorfindel stopped her decidedly.

"Of course. You will know what to do." She nodded and glanced at the couple on the balcony again only to discover they were being watched.

/*/

"What do you think you are doing over there, you pair of eavesdroppers?" Elrond called, steadying Legolas with one hand. The boy sat upright, obviously scared and ashamed, instinctively gathering Elrond's cloak tighter around himself like a blanket.

"We just came by to say good morrow," Verién smiled. Elrond chuckled and put the book away.

"Finally awake, huh? That was an eventful night. Did you catch some sleep at all?"

"A little," Verién smiled. "It wasn't perfectly comfortable, maybe…"

"What did you say?" Glorfindel smirked teasingly.

"No, nothing, my hero."

The Balrog Slayer shot her a don't-call-me-that-near-Elrond-look, causing the Lord of the valley to openly snort with laughter. He turned to his beautiful charge sitting nearby and delicately rubbed his back in a soothing gesture.

"Meet Verién, Legolas. She is my niece, the prankster daughter of my sister, Elevran. You saw her already on the painting you asked me about."

Verién came closer and squatted in front of Legolas, extending a hand in greeting.

"Nice to meet you, Legolas. You are a newcomer, aren't you? From Mirkwood?"

Both Lords hissed at such bold and direct question. Legolas stiffened and didn't take the offered hand, even if Verién held it stubbornly extended. He lowered his head in a tense greeting.

"It is an honor, my Lady. Yes, I… come from Mirkwood."

"You don't have to fear me. The sparrow's nest is on the eastern wall."

Legolas rapidly rose his head to look at Verién with pure shock on his face. Both Elrond and Glorfindel gave out a startled 'what?', looking up from Verién to themselves, on Legolas and back. The girl only smiled at the blond boy. Nicely.

"Are there any eggs?" Legolas asked slowly, his shock turning into wonder.

"Yes, three. And you know what?" the girl asked in a conspiratorial whisper. "Little sparrows have already hatched and flew away."

Now Legolas frowned. Seemingly he couldn't understand. Verién laughed at that.

"Caevyan, Gliowien, and Rithalindë. Remember? They have their own nests now."

Legolas gave out a choked sigh and grasped the girl's hand in both of his palms. Elrond have never seen him that enthusiastic and that happy before. He shook the rich robe off his shoulders and laughed with shining eyes, shaking the girl's hand.

"Good news! Good news!" he was repeating. "Their own nest… good news indeed!"

"Verién, could you please…" Elrond began quietly, watching Legolas in awe. He let go of the girl's hand and brushed a few tears out of his eyes in quick, almost violent movements, smiling all the time.

"This is a kind of code Legolas had been communicating with his fellows in Mirkwood. I'm sorry, but I cannot translate its meaning, uncle," she said, very proud of herself.

"Interesting. And where have you learned that?"

"You know, travels broaden the mind," she said brazenly. Elrond raised his fine brow at that.

"How are you doing, Legolas? Do you like it in Imladris?" the girl asked.

The boy nodded in joy. "I do, very much," he said, glancing at Elrond with thankfulness clearly written on his face. "Everyone are so kind to me."

"Have you seen all of the place? Glorfindel told me that you are already two months in here."

"All the place? No, I haven't…" he said with a note of regret. "I just… well, it just didn't happen…"

"I see. You know, I could show you Imladris. It would have been a shame not to see it thoroughly. Especially if you live here now."

"I… I… may I?..." Legolas' eyes wandered to Elrond again, and saw only a kind expression and permission.

"Of course you may. You need some company more appropriate than stiff Lords and their stiff manners. And the sun will do you good." Elrond's hand extended to rest on a fair head, and the Lord noted with content that Legolas isn't moving away.

"But… Sir Erestor needs help in cleaning the kitchens and…"

"The kitchens are already cleaned, Legolas. We have been downstairs." Verién said, pointing Glorfindel. "Erestor shouldn't mind. The party had damaged his schedule a little… so that the dinner is going to be a bit late… but then, he was having fun himself yesterday. Come, we will go to him and ask whether he needs some help or not."

Surprisingly to the Lords again, Legolas just stood up without hesitation and neatly folded the embroidered robe, putting it down on a daybed. He glanced at his Master, who nodded again in permission, and with a genuine smile of joy Legolas bowed, excused himself courteously to Elrond and Glorfindel and ran after the girl.

/*/

Elrond just sat puzzled for a while on the daybed, suddenly feeling empty. It was actually very good to hold an armful of sleeping Legolas. And suddenly in a whirlwind of fuss he was kidnapped by his own niece, who should have showed more understanding to her uncle's wishes.

"She just grabbed him and they're gone," Elrond said finally. "I forgot what a hurricane this girl is."

Glorfindel didn't answer, looking at Elrond and biting his lower lip in unsettlement.

"You know, Legolas told me about… his past," Elrond began, glancing at his friend. "This was not an easy story. He couldn't calm down… so I read to him."

Still no answer. Elrond began to feel stupid.

"I see." Glorfindel said finally. "Did he calm down?"

"You saw yourself," Elrond said.

"Yeah. I saw."

That is where Elrond had enough. He straightened, as if attempting to stand up, but then abandoned the idea as it required too much of an effort. He felt empty and suddenly irritated, he wanted… no, there was actually no thing he wanted in his dispirited state. It was so perfect, why those two had to brutally interfere and put an end to their moment? It would have been much better, acceptable even, if he just gradually let him go, sent him downstairs with a kind reassurance and a smile. This would have been a very good day, with such a beginning. _Why am I never alone? _

"What is it you don't like, Glorfindel?" Elrond asked, badly unnerved.

"I think you mistake his feelings with ones he is incapable of."

"How… how could you say that? Glorfindel, do you know how you sound?"

Glorfindel sighed uncomfortably.

"I do know. Elrond, he is not ready. I feel so sorry for you, being forced to wait again, to hide your feelings, I know it is cruel, but he just cannot… he will turn you away at his present state… and if you do this just to, like, hurt yourself…"

"What are you speaking about?" Elrond yelled. "I was just comforting him!"

"Call it like you want," Glorfindel said quietly. "I know what I saw."

"I don't know what are you speaking about."

Elrond shook his head in outrage and turned his back to his friend. Looking down he saw a glimpse of Legolas' blond head in the courtyard and soon a pleasant chatter reached his ears. It was the Elf speaking, asking about something with barely hidden curiosity. Verién began enthusiastically explaining something.

Glorfindel left very quietly, so that when Elrond turned around again with a sharp remark on his tongue, he met only air.

/*/

"Oh?"

A young and slender Elf, busy around the fireplace, turned around suddenly.

" 'Ro, is everything alright?"

"Yeah… I just feel… stupid."

The Elf knelt next to his interlocutor, supporting his chin on his knee.

"You know, dear brother, this is actually nothing unusual."

"Oh come on," the other one said, straightening to a sitting position from where he was resting under the tree. " 'Tis such a strange thing. Don't you feel it too?"

The first one closed his eyes and concentrated. He was just about saying that no, he feels nothing, when along with the air something foul reached his nose.

"I do feel something," he sniffed. "Our food! Burning and all! Aaargh, Elrohir, move your ass and help me put out the fire!" The Elf dove into the small camp they made and reached for the spit, hissing and blowing at his hurting fingers.

"Now, come on! You have just burnt the rabbit I chased so long! How could you?" The other one of the twins complained aloud, kicking dirt into the small fire they had built earlier.

"Not my fault that you are such a poor hunter!" the other yelled back, holding the saved food in both somewhat burnt hands.

"It is you who is a very poor cook. And don't blame me, Elladan."

Elrohir heard an especially nasty, dwarvish curse from his brother and would have taught him better, if not the fact that the food was in his hands. He couldn't risk it becoming totally uneatable after a fall on the sandy ground.

They both sat cross-legged on their bedrolls, divided the rabbit in halves and even if it was a bit burnt, started eating. The rest of the riding party welcomed some silence with relief.

They were safely within Imladris' borders already, nothing dangerous would be coming their way and so all of them allowed themselves a little freedom. The twins, exited to be home finally, were especially loud and witty today; after three months of stay in Lothorien, mixed with long and exhausting orc hunts, they would settle at home for some rest before riding out for another journey.

The party was quite large. The makeshift camp they set up took all of the great clearing and a piece of the wood. More than a hundred men were accompanying the royal twins in their avenge hunts.

Elladan and Elrohir, even if respected, were not in charge. They were still too young for that. A tried and experienced captain, Glorfindel's colleague, led the party to the battle. In Lothorien they had help of a few Marchwardens also, but since they left the Golden Wood, they were all by themselves. They had a safe journey. All the wounded regained their senses under a good care of the Lady and her blessings. Spirits were high. They were coming home.

"But really, El, something worries me. Ada must be in some kind of trouble or anguish. Something is happening at home."

Elladan rose his eyes on his brother.

"I had a dream, remember? The one I told you about. Now you are having some bad thoughts. Maybe we shall really find something out of place in the palace."

"Only what?" sullen Elrohir mumbled. "The longer I think…"

"…the more stupid expression you wear. Come on, we're approaching home. It's good news. And if something's amiss, we will know soon. And maybe these are just stupid thoughts? Who knows." Elladan threw the gnawed rabbit bone gracefully into the bushes. His brother glanced at him disbelievingly, but shrugged and finished his half too.

"Anyway, it's good to be home!" he said, resuming his position under the tree. "We're not only safe here, we are carefree again! No more orcs, patrols, life threatening decisions, hiding, spying, paying attention…"

"We will eat cakes again," Elladan smirked.

"How I miss Belithravien's lemon cake…"

"…we will fool around and prank on Glorfindel…"

"…and Erestor. Good, old Erestor! I think I may have a little plan or two in mind."

"And what about proper archery grounds and the training hall? How I missed that…"

"…mhm… and we will be helping Ada in-"

Elladan and Elrohir glanced at each other in a desperate manner, looking for help, but there was none.

"…councils," Elrohir ended. "Oh damn."

Two identical, dispirited sighs escaped the two pair of lungs.

/*/

The beautiful palace hidden in a mountain valley was one, but the main body of Rivendell was situated a little lower, down the paths leading to the bottom of the stone canyon. Going further one would enter the meadows and fields, to take the only road leading there and finally encounter the forest Legolas had recognized from a blur of the unclear memories he possessed. He didn't _want_ to remember, to start with. That road was hidden and lay in darkness. It was far away from the here and now. The dark thoughts retreated easily; what was happening in that moment was more than Legolas would have ever imagined.

The Elf had never been on a market before. It was an overwhelming place for a quiet person like him; it was full of noise, busy with life, fueled by ubiquitous Elves running through the stone-leaden, narrow streets down to the round centre and up to the tenements. Various stalls were put up, selling goods and food, many small shops or storages were open on the lowest floors of the nice, solid houses along the streets. Every window was decorated with flowers or lace curtains. It was a hot day, so most of them were open, and one could easily steal a glance inside the room lying behind. Normal households were established there, families were living in these nice flats along with many children, as if the whole world of pain and terror that Legolas came from never existed, or at least they knew nothing of it.

Rivendell was different than human towns; it was clean and spacious. The air was fresh, not humid. And the trees were green, not yellow with eaten by sickness leaves. A flock of pigeons flew up into the sky from the paved street, when the bells on the high tower not so far away started to ring at the full hour. The wind was swinging the branches of the huge trees above their heads. Imladris was indeed beautiful.

An Elven maiden put the tray with some freshly baked cookies on the window sill. Both Verién and Legolas inhaled deeply; the scent was wonderful. A bit against his own mind, which kept sending him futile warnings to hold himself more stiff and be cautious, Legolas felt himself succumb into the atmosphere.

"I am so glad to hear the news from you," he brought up, feeling strange with such an open invitation to a talk, but feeling like he _could_ do it.

"These are not so fresh news," the girl said. "I was helping Caevyan and Gliovien about two years ago. Aranel has escaped Mirkwood last winter. From all this only story of Rithralindë is somewhat still new."

"We are very thankful," Legolas murmured. "I must thank you, my Lady, in the name of all of us."

"You are welcome. I did it with a sense of doing something good. I'm glad the news made you happy." Verién smiled nicely and kicked the dirt under her feet with a tip of her shoe, her cheeks gaining little color. "Only you need to know one thing. When you refer to me, use just my name, alright? In fact I am no Lady, you know."

"No Lady…? But, you are Master Elrond's niece…" Legolas glanced at her, uncertain.

"Well, yes… but the story is a bit complicated. I am not even wholly an Elf, to be exact."

Legolas frowned, understanding nothing of it. Verién raised an amused eyebrow at his expression.

"Nobody told you…? I could expect that it is not spoken often about me… you know, each family has to have a so-called black sheep. You could say I'm the one. I better tell you the whole story before you become thoroughly confused," she shook her head and led them both to a smiling boy who was selling raisins in honey and sugar.

She purchased one small paper bag and offered some sweets to Legolas. He gratefully took some, marveling at the taste, being absolutely sure he had never eaten something so sweet and so precious.

"Let me chatter for a while," she started, "I will make it as condensed as I can. My mother is uncle Elrond's sister, her name is Elevran."

"I know," Legolas replied. "I saw her at the painting."

"You sleep in my chamber?" Verién asked resolutely. Legolas lost his composure immediately, wanting to apologize, but she calmed him down quickly. "But it's even better, really. My old chamber never granted me a good sleep, even if the bed is said to be the best in whole Imladris." She said. Legolas nodded with a sigh, accepting that.

"My mother sailed over the Sea quite a long time ago. Uncle Elrond took it as a just another blow from the fate, but he was tough. The reason why she sailed was a man." Legolas thought that Verién's voice wavered a little. "As strict and dependable person as she was, with a hard personality difficult to break, when it came to love, she had chosen the worst possible option of all… She fell in love with a human farmer. I heard she saw him once or twice, he was from the nearby village. They fell in love and spent some wonderful time together, but then she got pregnant with me and things got complicated. They broke up. Nanneth gave birth to me. She raised me a little, so that I could take care on my own. With time it all become too much for her, so she sailed. Now she is happy… I think. I like to think of the peace she found in Grey Heavens."

Legolas noted the natural smile which accompanied the girl during telling the story. He wondered whether it was a good fake or just her character, but unable to decide, he kept silent.

"So you see… my parents weren't married, so as much as the word is ugly, it is truthful – I am a bastard. In addition, one that has only one quarter of Elven blood in her veins. My mother was a Half-Elf, my father was mortal… I really don't know if another original like me walks this Arda." She ended, taking a handful of raisins from the paper bag Legolas carried.

"I understand," Legolas said. He hesitated, not exactly knowing if he should say that he's sorry. She could get offended.

She must have noticed his glare. "Don't be sorry, it's alright. I like my life more that way. I am a free spirit."

"You don't live here, do you…?" Legolas asked tentatively. "You have just came back, but do you…"

"You ask whether I have a home, huh?" The girl glared at him with an unreadable expression.

"Yes." Legolas hung his head down, expecting a sharp response like 'none of your business'.

"This is one of my homes. I know you wonder how it is possible that a girl from such a noble family could roam the wilderness. But that's the way for me… I have friends out there. I visit here often… but just stay in the Big World, learning things by myself."

"That's how you met my kin from Mirkwood?"

"Yes."

"Why did you help them?" Legolas asked suddenly, stopping.

Verién stopped too. She saw uncertainty in the Elf's eyes, and instantly she knew how much actually depends on her answer. Obviously he was troubled, not sure of he can trust her or not.

"I helped them, because I don't like what had been done to them." She said seriously. "I can recognize wrongness when I see it. I don't like it, so I change it."

"And there is nothing more to that?" Legolas asked slowly.

The girl smirked, but somehow sadly.

"In truth, there is not much more to my whole life. I do what I like, when I like, how I like and because I like. And it works the other way round too: I don't do what I don't like, just because I don't like it. For it's wrong, or because I feel it's not entirely as it should be. Can you take such a reason?" She asked, extending a hand.

"I can," he said surprisingly easily and took the offered palm. "It sounds more probable than what Lord Glorfindel says."

"And what does my hero say?" Verién asked, snorting with laughter.

"They all help me because it should be done, that's the way they show solidarity, this is good, this is like it will be from now on…" Legolas muttered.

"Sounds stiff." The girl judged.

"Yeah. And unreal, doesn't it?"

"Hehe… given Glorfindel, not so unreal, but you don't know him that well yet…" she chuckled. "You know, I thought you really might be lonely, having no one to talk to. You haven't been making friends, huh?"

"I… haven't had much time. I… actually, I have only recently left the healing room. Master Elrond had taken care of me." Legolas fixed his eyes on his shoes.

"I see." She said only, lifting and eyebrow in a manner that indicated some plans being made inside her head. "You were kinda beaten, I heard."

"Mhm."

She waited for something more, but nothing came forth. Searching for his eyes, Verién met a hurt, apologizing look.

"It's alright." She patted his hand he didn't let go of. "It's more than alright, not to want to talk about this."

He nodded in relief.

The lively market streets were a never-ending sea of colors, scents and pictures. It passed near them, rested for a while, allowed to be noticed, and was gone in an instant, replaced by another picture or another feeling. Only now Legolas realized how long a time he spent confined to one chamber and one bed; how long he had been inside of a building, contained by walls. It had been a considerable amount of restriction. Far too great for both his body and his soul. When later Verién showed him a convenient tree they could climb on and sit, he hugged the rough wood and pressed his heated cheek to the bark. The inner turmoil of so many feelings was becoming unbearable and he desperately wished for sleep, so that he could wake up with a lot fresher mind, without the pain in his breast, clenching his heart and gripping his throat; but then something happened.

The tree started whispering.

/*/

"Ada…?"

One of the twins silently sneaked inside their father's study to take a look around. No one answered his call, so he crossed the room and finally found his father in the library, busy with several volumes, as always searching through the text in a hurry with slightly nervous hands.

"Ada."

Elrond turned around quickly and his eyes rested on his son, so changed, even if still the same. A broad, truly happy smile made Elrond's strict face a lot more pleasant and so the twin ran across the chamber to fall in a short, but affectionate hug.

" 'Ro, come, Ada is here!" he called to his brother and in an instant an identical figure appeared in the doorway. Elrond extended his second hand to reach for his other son and held him close briefly.

"I missed you, my children," the Lord finally sounded. "It was so empty and bad without you here."

"Ada, what's wrong? Such an open display of emotions?" Elladan joked good-naturedly. "You speak as if we have been away for years."

"It felt like years," Elrond admitted. "How was your journey? All safe? No wounded?"

"None. Those who were had regained health in Lothorien. We have destroyed five big orc groups and a few smaller. Nothing appears abnormal… only these beasts are easier to find and in slightly greater number… But then, it is for the better we hunted them down."

"No deaths among the soldiers? How many returned?"

The twins smiled brightly.

"Not this time, Ada. All are safe. Although Faraedhel is still weak, he survived a powerful stab from behind from one especially nasty… I mean…"

"Watch your tongue, Elrohir," Elrond's eyes for a minute became much displeased.

"Sorry, Ada," the twin apologized, looking at the floor. Soon he and his brother were once again crushed in a hug.

"You will have to tell me everything," Elrond said. "I missed you very much and now I want nothing more than to have you close. My sons… Maybe you will ease my old and tired mind."

The tree stayed like this for a while. Both Elladan and Elrohir instinctively felt that their parent needs that, a calming reassurance the family touch provided, and a safe knowledge that they were at home. Questions could wait. Stories and tales could wait. All enthusiasm could also be stopped for a while – for this one moment, just to help their father, who was bearing a dark aura of troublesome, unpleasant thoughts around himself. The twins knew he worries about something very much. They could sense uncertainty about the future. They clearly noted irritation and bad shadows of resignation and regret. Was there a hint of guilt also…?

They had not the time to detect anything further before the cloud evaporated, but from what they felt in that instant, they could confirm their suspicions from earlier. Elrohir shot his brother a glance.

Their Ada was sad again.


	11. Maps and letters

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: Mild slash themes. And some fluff.

I would gladly, gladly receive some feedback…

Chapter 11: MAPS AND LETTERS

/*/

What a perfect afternoon, Elrond thought as he lazily put the finished book on the nearby table. As always after an accomplished lecture, sated and satisfied, he stretched lightly in his armchair and with a smirk of playfulness noted that the door to his chamber creaked open. Legolas bowed briefly and came into Elrond's field of vision.

"Here, my Lord," the Elf said with a beautiful smile and put on the table a tray with cooled herbal tea and some rice cookies.

"Oh… thank you, dear elfling," Elrond smiled and reached to pull the blonde onto his lap, "…for bringing me a dessert. I was just hoping for some pleasant surprise."

"Were you, my Lord?" Legolas answered, pretending bashfulness. He nestled himself on Elrond's knees and encircled his neck with both arms. "I am glad, then, to make your wish come true."

Elrond regarded his treasured Elf with endless affection. He was wearing the most precious, plain crème shirt, made from so delicate a fabric that it seemed transparent. It settled on his perfect body as if it was wet.

"I should have you wear this more often," Elrond murmured, nuzzling the crook of Legolas' neck with half-lidded eyes and swirling the fabric between his fingers. "Only in my chambers, of course. None of Imladris can look at you in this sinful garment."

"My Lord!" Legolas laughed happily. "You are becoming possessive."

"I have always been _possessive_", he answered, leaving a gentle, teasing bite on Legolas' collarbone. "For you are mine and only mine. I will pamper you forever just because you are mine. I take good care of my possessions."

Legolas smiled at this.

"I am content with being in your possession, my Lord." He said.

Elrond nodded in appreciation and turned his attention to the small cakes on the plate before him. He broke one of them in half and bit off a piece for himself, then offered the rest to his lover. Legolas took the sweet from his Lord's hand. Elrond stroked his head with a free hand, petting him favorably while feeding him the cakes.

Later Elrond took a delicate, porcelain cup, sipped on the tea and caught the sight of the blue orbs, following his movements as if enchanted.

"Some tea?" Elrond smirked.

"It is up to you, my Lord." Legolas said lowering his eyes obediently, as if they were speaking of the most precious wine from the Lothorien vineyard. Elrond shook his head, obviously flattered. He took another mouthful of the greenish, cool liquid and gently cupped Legolas' jaw, so that he could lead their lips together and rejoice in a wet kiss.

Legolas purred. Obviously purred, the sound was impossible to misjudge with anything else, and it caused a tremor down Elrond's spine. As Legolas swallowed, his lips were claimed again, but unhurriedly; they had the time. There was no demanding hint in the kiss. It was a lazy, sun-filled afternoon, when all had been said and done. Enlightened with this knowledge, Elrond contemplated it, suckling on the lower lip of his beloved. How simply, calmly _happy _he felt!

The fair Elf, lounging on Elrond's lap, rested his head in the crook of his protector's neck trustingly and sighed in full content, obviously as blissful as his Lord.

"My dear, sweet elfling… not that this perfection lacks anything…" Elrond murmured, glancing at the perfect beauty he was holding in his arms, "…but if such moments of joy can get any better, we shouldn't waste any time…" Slowly, but determinedly Elrond slid his hand down the slender chest covered in the wonderful shirt downwards, to finger the waistband of his gray leggings.

Legolas gave him a glance in which happiness was mingling with tease and slightly spread his thighs to give Elrond better access. The warm hand slid inside the cloth and fondled gently, producing the first mewl of pleasure.

"Yes, my Lord… yes." Legolas breathed. "My Lord… Lord… Elrond…"

Elrond.

Elrond!

"Elrond! Are you alright?"

Erestor was shaking him roughly, wearing a very worried and endlessly stupid expression on his face. Elrond woke in his own bed, bathed in sweat and plagued by chills wracking his whole body; knowing not what happened, he pushed away Erestor's hands and just breathed deeply for a while.

"Are you awake…?" his friend asked, cautiously keeping his hands well visible.

"I think so…" Elrond answered, glad that he could use his voice. "It was just a dream…"

"I brought you some breakfast, but you were still asleep. You weren't responding when I called to wake you, so I invaded your bedchamber; I couldn't wake you at all. You were like dead." Erestor said slowly. "What was that? You had a vision? A flash of foresight?"

Elrond rubbed his face tiredly.

"I don't know," he confessed in a whisper. "It looked like a dream, but… it might not have been a dream…"

"Maybe you shouldn't get up now, Elrond. You don't look good."

"I'm fine. Could you call Glorfindel, please? Is he awake?" Elrond asked, sitting upright and calming his breathing. Erestor nodded; even if dreading to leave his liege alone, he went off quickly, returning shortly with Glorfindel. The blond seneschal told him to walk out, of course. Erestor obviously hated that kind of behavior; after all, it was him who found Elrond, raised the alarm and so had a full right to hear the whole story. Between the outraged struggles and arguments Elrond sent him only one tired glare - and that finally made him leave.

Glorfindel sat down at the edge of Elrond's bed and drowned his stare in his face.

"A vision?" he asked quietly after some time.

"I'm not sure. It never happened during sleep. But it was sharp and vivid like a vision. I could recognize the shape and the kind of leaves behind the window. I can remember everything. There are no impossible or fantastic elements a dream would contain. Time was not abstract, nor the place or persons." Elrond said, still hiding his face between his palms.

"Alright… now, what have you seen?"

Elrond took a deep breath and resigned, decided to embrace the possible outcome.

"I have seen enough to say that I need to apologize, my friend. It seems that you know me better than I myself do." Glorfindel's eyebrows twitched at that and he was just about to say that the balcony argument is long ago forgotten, but Elrond didn't let him finish. "I have seen Legolas in that… projection. He seemed healthy, happy, free of pain the memories would cause. He was… flirting. Provocative. Bold. Or rather, teasing maybe."

Glorfindel nodded. His face was saying that there is nothing wrong in Legolas becoming bold finally.

"The place was my own chamber. Imladris. That's why I'm not sure it could have been possible. As far I thought that only the journey over the Sea could make him truly normal again. To have him healed while still in Middle-Earth…? I… doubt that…" Elrond muttered. Glorfindel smirked.

"Um, Elrond… in this dream, what were you two doing…?"

Elrond received a sting of anger at this question, but this was Glorfindel, his friend. He deadened it inside and forced himself to answer.

"I think you can imagine what we two were up to. This is exactly the second reason I doubt it was a true vision. Don't play naive, you have stated quite clearly yesterday on the balcony what do you think you saw." He hissed.

"…was I that very wrong?" Glorfindel asked quietly.

Elrond only stared for a while.

"I don't know, I don't… Glorfindel, I am having dreams. I… am fond of him. I like his body. I have seen it only as a healer, and I shouldn't… but I am not immune to his attitude. What worries me the most is how I much too easily accept his submission and find it natural. I think him sweet when he is so helpless. It's like… I want to care for him… but it's tinted with… desire, maybe?" Elrond whispered, and to Glorfindel's ears it sounded like he was afraid of his own words. "It shouldn't be like this, I know… I must keep away from him, for this is not leading to anything good," he sighed finally, feigning determination so well, that anyone would swallow it. Except his oldest friend, that is.

Glorfindel shook his head and glanced skywards. He leaned to his friend and put both hands on his shoulders, searching for his eyes, hidden in the shadow of the long hair, mussed from a long night of sleep.

"Elrond, there's nothing wrong in that. It's alright. It gladdens my heart that you are able to love again, after the history with Celebrian… no, don't you dare cut me off this time! Technically I am older than you, my friend, and you have called _me_, not Erestor, not anyone else, so you need _my_ consolation and my advice. Therefore you will listen to what I say without interruptions."

Elrond frowned royally, but remained silent. Glorfindel was glad that he maintained the eye-to-eye contact. He continued.

"I repeat, there is nothing wrong in your feelings. Not even with being fond of his submissive attitude. After a strong-willed and overly independent wife, it's natural you long for something else, especially if you are overprotective by nature. But, obviously, Legolas is not ready now. He cannot react normally to the simplest of gestures, and love is never simple." Glorfindel gave his friend a serious glance. "Still, if the dream you have had held even a little resemblance to a vision… you may have hope and be glad, Elrond. That means: when the time comes, you will both have enough strength to trust one another."

"But Glorfindel, I…"

"…you must rein in your temper, yes. But do not keep away from this child. After what he told you yesterday, how he opened up to you, he will take it as the rejection he always feared and it will break him surely. Do not keep away from him, for this will be painful to both of you. And it won't help at all. It will only make the longing stronger."

Softening his look now, Glorfindel shook his head.

"I am really glad that your heart has sparked with love again. I was beginning to worry for you. Maybe Valar knew what they were doing, leading this child here. Maybe it must be so, you saving him, he saving you."

Elrond pondered his words for a while.

"Aren't you going… a bit too far? I don't know, I told you… It may be attraction, but to speak about love…"

"Love starts from attraction, did you know?" Glorfindel laughed. "And don't blame yourself for having dreams, whatever the nature. When one lives so long as we do and still has so little time to fully explore the… oh well," he shook his head, smiled to memories and rose from the bed. Elrond raised an eyebrow at this obvious change of topic. "Now I shall do my best to give a bird to the scared-to-death Erestor eavesdropping under your door. Should I tell him something concrete?"

"Awww," Elrond complained while falling back on the bed. He put a forearm across his eyes and muttered something under his breath with a displeased expression. "Tell him I had a vision of high importance to the fate of all Middle-Earth."

"But sure you had!" Glorfindel snorted with laughter and walked out before Elrond managed to treat him with some kind of acridity.

/*/

In the meantime, a few doors further, someone was spending his morning in a completely different fashion.

Lying still in the miraculously warm and soft bed under a fluffy blanket had many advantages, Legolas thought stretching lazily. It was _Orbelain _(1). A free day. What he was supposed to do with a free day, Legolas still did not know, but he was being given one every week either way. Erestor explained that he was supposed to rest, gather some strength for the following work, do something just for himself, have some fun. Legolas tried to imagine what that fun could be, but he couldn't come up with anything he could do without overstepping his place as a servant.

Each _Orbelain_ morning, the day appeared strange with no duties or chores and it had this dreadful sting of uneasiness Legolas hated. He didn't know what to do with the upcoming day and it filled him with stress, as if he was doing something improper to his own status. For it was another thing which was not normal to a slave.

However, soon he learnt that he liked to sleep more. Laziness at the every beginning of his free day was a totally new feeling, as he discovered. Sleeping in a wonderful bed two hours longer than usual was a blessing. Legolas kicked the blanket in a way which allowed him to cover his right leg when turning on the side and nestled deeper into the softness.

Sleep couldn't come on a mere whim once he had woken, but Legolas was unwilling to leave the bed just yet. He was still warm and drowsy and he knew that sooner or later the blissful oblivion would take him, so he busied himself with some pleasant thoughts about yesterday afternoon and tried to extinguish the sting of worry about his plans for today. _I can spend some time here… then I will go eat something, Belithravien would be angry if I skipped the meal… and then… what to do then?... _He mused. _Maybe I could… No, probably I couldn't…_

Rivendell was a city of novelty. Each turn of his head gave him more wonders to look at. He still hadn't managed to go through all these miracles and accept them as they were shown to his eyes. Since he had woken he kept returning in his thoughts to that glorious afternoon in the lower valley.

_That__ day was a stolen one_, he thought. _I was given a chance to see a few things and enjoy the company of another, but that's all. Now I have these two hours of sleep, later… later I shall either find something to help with or come back here, where is safe… I shouldn't walk around without any purpose._

Calmed with this bittersweet conclusion the fair Elf closed his eyes once more, awaiting some sleep.

But suddenly there was a knock at the door. The sound was so foreign and so unexpected that for a brief moment Legolas didn't know how to react. Finally, sitting up and gathering a blanket around himself, he hesitantly called to enter.

In the narrow gap of the opened door appeared Verién, dressed and washed, ready to face another day. She smiled at his state of sleepiness and opened the door more, leaning her body weight on the solid door handle and the opposite doorframe.

"Do you want to sleep some more before I take you with me?" she asked.

"Take me where…?" he asked automatically through his astonishment.

"Somewhere out. You have a free day today, don't you? You don't plan to sit the whole day here, I think. The weather is beautiful."

"You would spend time with me? You have… nothing else to do?" he asked, still too surprised to form it in a more polite sentence.

"Sure I would spend time with you. I have no plans actually, so I thought I might as well show you a few more of Imladris' places or we could ride somewhere."

"I cannot." He said quickly. "I'm not allowed."

"Uncle has nothing against it, I just asked him about that." She said. It was a lie of course, but he did not need to know.

"I… well, I think… that, maybe…" Legolas' eyes darted to the sides as if he was looking for a way out. Verién backed off.

"Alright, no far escapades then in that case. But… well, I just thought you might want to take a walk with me, for example. What say you?"

Legolas calmed down in a second, regained control of his breathing and nodded, quite happily. Verién told him she would wait in the kitchens and left him to wash and dress, disappearing behind the door which closed soundlessly, leaving Legolas in security of his own room for a while.

Through the stupefied haze he was in, the first hints of joy awoke somewhere low in his stomach. That girl he met only yesterday came to him out of her own free will and asked for his presence. Did that mean she liked him? She seemed nice and sincere enough, so maybe, just maybe, she wanted to befriend him?

Reassured by that thought beyond any point of common sense Legolas jumped out of the bed and quickly shed his sleeping robe. He decided that he must ask for her reasons; he must talk a little and get a confirmation – because if he found a new friend, it would be great, great news, for the first time since he established a lasting friendship with Moreth.

The kitchens were a little less lively today, for many Elves spent their free days at homes or still slept like Legolas would, had it not been for his morning encounter. He found Verién nibbling slowly at her plate of food, with a similar breakfast bowl for him on the table. She involved him in a merry talk immediately, and he was grateful, for he could not think of a single topic to talk about; he was just too nervous. Glad, happy, hopeful – but also nervous. If she wanted to try him as a new friend, he should appear from his best side. Only he was not entirely sure what his best side was.

Sometime later Belithravien left them to check something in the larder, and Verién chose that moment to look at Legolas' plate, not smaller than hers. She noticed that the Elf was eating quickly and with no regard for the offered tea.

"Legolas, you really don't need to eat everything to show you are good and willing to obey… it will finally end in a serious illness should you dig in like that and then throw up behind the barn." She said in a hushed voice.

Legolas dropped the piece of bread he was holding, going pale.

"You saw me…?" he asked weakly.

"No, I can recognize what you are doing," she said, pointing his food. "I was doing this myself a few years ago, but from different reasons than you."

Legolas was silent a full minute.

"Why, then?" he dared to ask, still frozen in one position.

"I wanted to get thinner." She smirked, lifting her tea cup.

"But you are quite thin."

"I thought otherwise. But thank you," she smiled.

"And… did you succeed?" Legolas slowly relaxed, seeing that she is not making any violent gestures nor going hysterical about what she saw.

"Well, yes… though I couldn't lift a sword, that weak I was. I got very ill by that time. But, thanks to friends, I am the way I am now." She smiled and pointed the tea. "Drink some. Slowly. That will help with the nauseous feeling, trust me."

Legolas sighed sadly and looked at his half-empty plate. He did eat too quickly and felt full enough not to eat anything else.

"You are… not angry?" he asked, suddenly feeling guilty.

"No."

"You… will you tell Master?"

"No."

"I didn't want to disappoint Belithravien… and Master ordered me to eat… and she kept giving me so much… and Neremiel too. I just… didn't want them to be angry or… say anything… That's why I…"

"It's fine." She said. "Only you cannot go on like this, for you will fall ill. You are getting thinner and thinner. Either someone will notice or after a few more weeks you won't find enough strength to stand up. Besides, Elrond would be really, really angry. Not at you. At her." She pointed the small doors Belithravien disappeared behind. "Elrond knows you are incapable of eating much after the enforced fast in Mirkwood, so he won't see it as your fault. Belithravien was supposed to watch over you and mind that you are gaining some weight. It would be just better to tell the truth and have her disappointed once or twice than make a real problem."

Legolas swallowed nervously. He pressed a hand to his flat stomach feeling a sudden wave of nausea at the mere thought that he could actually do that to the good-hearted woman.

"I… didn't know… I'm sorry…" he whispered.

"But Legolas, nothing happened, right?" Verién winked at him. "I won't say a word, you will start to eat normally. I see no problem."

Legolas nodded slowly, but seeing her smile he believed in her honesty. It was almost like the conspiracy in Mirkwood. He was able to understand that. He found an old way of communicating.

"Thanks for the warning." He said shyly.

"Be my guest. Friends should help each other."

He stared at her for a while.

"Friends?" he asked cautiously.

"Friends," she said and held out her hand, which he shook without serious hesitation.

/*/

That first morning was only the beginning to the strangest and happiest time Legolas had ever spent with a friend thus far. Mirkwood friendships were different from what he was experiencing now. They were much about help in survival, less about security, warmth, fun or trust. Here Legolas didn't have to worry whether he would live until tomorrow or not. As a result he found himself looking for something else in friendship; a craving for some attention and understanding, the atmosphere which allowed him to put his guard down, some security. He enjoyed the fact that Verién was doing all the talking when they met someone on the corridor or the courtyard. He was unwilling to overly socialize and having her close meant he didn't have to talk and be polite, he could only listen, observe and nod from time to time.

Legolas was abashed and unwilling to go anywhere out of the palace. The last trip to the market was a vivid memory, but it left him slightly overwhelmed. He much preferred the security of the Last Homely House. Verién was content with just that; she showed him the whole building and he soon found that he didn't know even a tiny percent of it, even if the palace in itself was not as big as Mirkwood fortress. Verién seemed to know every story about every piece of furniture standing near the wall. As they were walking through the hall, she indulged him with a tale of the big, old anniversary clock, in the kitchens she taught him names of the famous porcelain sets hidden for formal occasions in the dark, wooden cabinet in the corner. The Hall of Fire held many surprises - sculptures and paintings, especially. Each of them had its own tale. Every portrait was or once had been created off of a living individual. Each candelabrum held ages of faithful service.

It soon showed that Legolas had absolutely no idea about history whatsoever. He knew only briefly dark stories about the Dark Lord and huge battles against evil, but he spoke about them with fear, certain that he is breaking a taboo. His belief in the Valar was, somehow, off balance. It was of little surprise given that he came through an ordeal severe enough to sap any belief in the merciful Gods he might have had. Being asked about it, he was quickly losing his composure and his mood was becoming cloudy, so Verién refrained from that. Once she distracted him by showing him a huge map of Middle-Earth.

"Look," she sighed, putting a large scroll of paper on a polished surface of the round table in the Library. Legolas hurriedly turned his attention away from the mountains of books and with a sacred fear beheld the map.

"This is Middle-Earth. The world as we know it. It's damn difficult to make a map, because the length of the road from Rivendell to Lothorien, for example, must fit the real length of the journey there. That's why people invented the scale. It's over here, look: on this map each length like this," she showed him an inch measure, "matches hundred miles in reality. Do you understand?"

"More or less," he answered, leaning to take a closer look.

"Mirkwood is that black stain over there. All of this is a forest."

"Is it that big?"

"Aye. The palace of Lathronios is over here. You had been traveling this way…" she kept explaining.

Legolas listened. He didn't remember the whole road. Truth be told, he remembered only very unpleasant feelings of ever existent pain, few pictures, changing of the scenery and the brown, bent neck of the horse he was riding on. He had no idea they were crossing places which had names and were painted on maps.

Not knowing how to read, he had difficulties with remembering all the places and names. Verién was explaining softly and slowly, repeating the major parts over and over again. He heard about the biggest lands, news from there were coming to Mirkwood through the messengers quite regularly, and Moreth had also told him a little, but Legolas could never match the exact names to the correct places on the map. Verién kept telling him stories about each land she was introducing and he drank every her word greedily, trying to remember as much as he could. His mind was curious about this new knowledge. Like every young Elf, Legolas learnt quickly, even if it was awkward at first.

"Lothlórien…" he whispered, touching the tiny, painted trees with his finger. "I heard that a powerful witch is living there."

"Lady Galadriel?" Verién smiled. "Old, wise and powerful she is, but I wouldn't call her a witch."

Legolas frowned. "But all these stories about people losing their minds in the forest of Lórien after they encountered the White Witch… I have heard it so many times."

"But you should take under consideration who was spreading these rumors." She glanced at him seriously.

"Well… the royalty," Legolas said with a hint of doubt. "And the warriors who returned from the trips."

"Any envoys? Riders? Messengers? Why not from people who really were there?"

Legolas didn't answer for a long time, deep in thought. The slaves never spoken to the envoys. Even if they tended to their accommodation they were not allowed to speak in their presence. Riders and messengers sometimes came to the lower parts of the castle, sometimes they met slaves and even talked with them briefly, but Legolas himself had never had any chance to do that apart from a few short, pleasant greetings with Farlineor, the messenger who had always been kind. But he had never spoken about the faraway lands, either.

But Legolas remembered one strange transport of slaves brought to the fortress. Usually the new ones were put into a southern part of the dungeons for the start and after a few days they were introduced to the normal working schedule. But that one time it was said that very dangerous people were brought - fifteen grown males said to be previous prisoners and escapees caught when trying to cross Mirkwood's territory. Not many dared to acquaint closer with them. They were speaking strange things after they were included in the work, telling stories about tyranny in Mirkwood, evilness of the whole life in the castle and the judgment from the Valar. They wanted to start a rebellion, seemingly. Legolas never managed to listen better to what they were saying, for the whole fifteen disappeared with no trace. One evening the guards just led them out of the common area and never brought back.

Legolas glanced at Verién uncertainly.

"You want to say that we weren't told the truth." He spoke finally, and the girl nodded. "And you will move on to tell me that we weren't told the truth about Rivendell, either."

Verién didn't say a word, only sighed sadly in silence.

Legolas rose from the table and wandered around the room slowly, unhurriedly. His eyes were sliding over the leather bound books, heavy shelves reaching well under the ceiling, slender ladders attached to the structure, allowing one to reach to the highest congeries. He moved further alongside the wall and delicately followed the shape of the carved frame of the huge painting on the opposite side.

It was a grand painting of the Battle of Last Alliance. The top of it was almost hidden in the dark. In the sleepy, bluish light seeping from the windows the artwork was a dazzling view, with enormous care taken for every detail. Each Elf had his own, different, realistic face. The armours seemed to shine with a glow of polished metal, even if it was only paint. Embroidered banners were frozen under the assault of a strong wind. Dry and red earth under the fighter's feet was spreading far into a dreadful, ugly panorama of the Dark Land.

Amongst the awful and terrifying creatures of Sauron, amongst armor-clad Elven warriors and a crowd of strongly built, dangerous Men, several persons held the attention and love of the painter. Whole scenes were created around them. There were powerful Gil-galad and Elendil in the very center, slaying orcs with mighty swings of their weapons, surrounded by his folk remaining under the shadow of the royal banners. There was a dark, shapeless cloud behind the army of foul creatures, giving out orders and reaching with a long, gloved hand in a gesture of genuine fury. Legolas turned his eyes away.

There was another person, high and proud, with a determined face, focused on his opponent. Unbelievably beautiful in his Elven glory, his long black hair waving behind him, matted and dirty with his enemy's blood. A sword in his hand shone dimly, deadly, and it was ready to strike; and yet there was no yell of triumph on the Elf's face, only certainty, hope and justice.

"What is this scene?" Legolas whispered, unable to take his eyes off the figure.

"The Battle of Last Alliance. The last army of Men and Elves against the threat of Mordor in the field of Dagorlad. It was the battle which changed the fate of Middle-Earth." Verién answered.

Legolas stared for a long while again in complete silence. Something important was being born in his head. His hand reached and shyly touched the irregular surface of the painting, soft fingertips rested on the warrior's chest.

"He is…" he started.

"Uncle Elrond, yes."

Legolas stared again. His brow furrowed and he tensed as if he was fighting with an invisible current, dragging him away from this scene and forcing to stop the new thoughts it was causing. Stop staring, stop reminiscing, don't _think_! He took a step forward, as if trying to fight with this impalpable blockade he encountered. His hand resting on Elrond's painted chest was trembling.

"Legolas…?" Verién whispered, beginning to worry. He did not move, still rigid as if glued to the floor.

"They… did lie to me. They lied to us. We were all deceived." He said finally. A tear escaped from his eye, but he did nothing to wipe it away. "They lied… about so many things… the past, history… people… realms… they never said that apart from Mirkwood there were no slaves…! They even lied about _this_," he sobbed and his hand fell down defenselessly.

He was trembling visibly, fighting the urge to cry aloud. Soon he raised his head, having regained control; he breathed deeply once, twice, finally relaxed.

"And then… you start to wonder what else they said was a lie." He finished wearily.

Verién rose from her seat and came over to him. Tentatively, for she knew not how was he going to react, she embraced him from his side, so that he could still look at the painting. He leaned into her embrace, sniffing loudly.

"He is so beautiful," he said suddenly.

"Elrond?" Verién asked, glancing up at him.

"Yes…" he sighed, wiping the wet eyes with a back of his hand. Verién smiled.

"You find him handsome?"

"Well…" he wondered at that. "Maybe… I don't know if Master is handsome… this is something else, Master is just… beautiful." He hesitated. "Lord Glorfindel is beautiful too, but… a bit differently…"

The girl didn't make a comment on that, but she smiled to herself, looking at Legolas' dreamy expression.

"Yes. You are right. They are both beautiful."

Legolas sniffed for the last time and freed himself from her arms. He rubbed his face few times, a strange mixture of feelings appearing on his features; a bit of shame, a bit of sadness, a bit of longing, and some tiredness. He glanced at the map spread on the table and then at Verién, as if he tried to say something and didn't know how to form it in words with respect and politeness.

"Tired, right?" she came to his aid. He nodded.

"I… I really like being with you." he said awkwardly, but sincerely. "I enjoy it tremendously. Only… I am…"

"…tired and a bit sad, I dare say. You want to be alone now. It is all right. Get some rest, Legolas. I will be in the kitchens should you need me or to fight against boredom. Hm?"

He smiled and nodded with pure thankfulness. For a second they stood uncertainly - wondering whether the words were the last thing they should do at a parting or maybe there should be something else – but then Verién leaned to him once again and embraced him quickly, patting his back. Legolas didn't move away and made no move to reject her. He would have lacked in courage to initiate this, maybe, but he was glad to oblige.

/*/

He did actually spend some time in his own room, but could not rest and could not endure sitting in one place longer than a few minutes.

He wanted to see his Master. It was his presence he craved now. _Oh come on, how greedy you are becoming!_ He scolded himself mentally. _How can you be dissatisfied with another beautiful day spent with your brand new friend!_ But his heart could not be talked into submission with only that. And even if he felt awful, even if he knew he was overstepping his place, even if he expected punishment, he walked out of his shelter and ran to his Master's door.

He knocked silently.

It was dinnertime, so Elrond could be downstairs in the Hall of Fire having some nourishment with the other Elves. The lasting silence on the other side of the door seemed to prove that theory. Oh well, Legolas sighed sadly caressing the dark wood with his fingertips. All his excitement evaporated.

Returning to his room was not a very pleasant idea. Something there forced him to walk away right now and the empty corridor appeared strangely more welcoming than the luxurious chamber. There was no one here and the door couldn't possibly be dissatisfied with bearing his weight, so he slid down to sit on the floor and let his head support itself on the carved wood.

What he didn't expect was the sudden move of the handle and the gentle swing of the door, leaving him out of balance. Before he managed to catch the door frame for support he was lying on the cold floor, with a slightly amused face of his Master hovering above. Utterly terrified, Legolas scrambled on his knees.

"Waiting for someone?" Elrond smiled.

"Yes… Master, I am sorry for any disrespect…"

"Don't." Elrond waved a hand to dismiss the apology. "Stand up, little leaf. What has happened? You seem a bit miserable to me."

Elrond ushered his charge into the royal chambers and closed the heavy door behind them. Legolas' eyes observed the floor, so the Lord tipped his chin up with two fingers and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What is the matter, Legolas?"

"No… nothing, Master," the Elf answered meekly, "I just wanted to… be with you a little," he stole a glance at Elrond to check whether he angered him or not.

Elrond smiled warmly, very pleased, but trying to keep this in himself. "Of course, little leaf," he murmured favorably and narrowed himself down to a long stroke down Legolas' nape, even if he truly wanted to hug the child close right now. "Tell me what have you been doing today."

"I was in the Library," Legolas answered. "With Verién, she led me and she said it was alright," he added, afraid that he abused some kind of unwritten law by his presence in the saint place full of books and maps.

"Why would it not be right?" Elrond bridled. "The house is open to you. You may come and go as you please, visit every room, use every amenity. You are an inhabitant of this place with rights no smaller than anyone else."

Legolas swallowed and nodded after a while, a bit more certain. "Y-yes, Master. Well… She showed me the map. A huge map with every land drawn on it. And I know now where Mirkwood is, and where Rivendell. I know the road I have been traveling."

"I see." Elrond smiled. He came to the table where the leftovers from his dinner stood and poured himself some tea. "You have found the time to eat something, I believe?" he tossed him a strict glance. "Even after some time you are horribly thin. I am beginning to worry."

"No, Master, I will be gaining weight now, I promise," Legolas said fervently. He would die of shame if Elrond found out what he had been doing.

"You promise?" the Lord laughed. "How come you can make such a promise? You have no control over this, little one."

"I just… I know, Master, that I will be better from now on."

Elrond raised his fine brow. He suspected someone else took care of this matter, since Legolas was unwilling to raise it up now and promised to behave better, which was practically equivalent to admitting his fault. It was probably unintentional.

"I will trust you, then. Have you eaten?"

Legolas paled and shook his head no, ashamed. Elrond sighed, sounding a bit displeased to Legolas' ears, and glanced inside the porcelain vase he had on the table. Enough of the thick, aromatic soup was there to feed the young guest.

While eating, Legolas followed every move of his Master as he moved around the room about the various flasks and bottles, arranging them on the shelves of the black wooden desk. His attention was also drawn to the big pile of mushrooms of various kinds drying in the sun on one of the window sills. Some of them were delicate, thin like young leaves, in pale colors of red and shades of pink. There were also thick, fleshy ones, with big, frilly endings, deep brown or even black, giving out a musky aroma. Legolas had never seen mushrooms like that and so he wondered if they had a healing suitability.

Having consumed the soup, Legolas waited patiently until Elrond paid attention to him again. His earlier observation of becoming greedy of that came to him with double force, but he could not help it. Hopefully for his affection-craving mind Elrond turned to him as soon as he stopped hearing the silent clinking of the spoon touching the plate and came closer by. With a fond smile he took a white cloth from the tray and delicately wiped the corner of Legolas' mouth, causing the youth to blush slightly.

"You look better now than when you came here with whole miserable face," Elrond joked. "Why have you been so sad?"

Legolas bent his head.

"I don't know." He said. "We have been just looking at the map. And the painting."

"What painting?"

"Of the battle."

"Ah, that one… you haven't heard about the Battle of The Last Alliance before?"

"I heard," Legolas mumbled, "only a slightly different version. And all the world… it's so huge… the map was so big…"

Elrond bent over his Elf and cupped his cheek.

"Yes, the world is big. But it needs to be so, so that every creature has its place. Just like you have found your place here." He said. "As for the maps and books… It's good that you have seen some. I was thinking about it and it would be good for you to learn how to read and write. Basically, your education has been utterly ignored. We should make up for that."

"I… I would learn… things?" Legolas asked uncertainly. "But I have learnt a lot. I know how to help in the kitchens, how to do fieldwork, how to clean and tidy, I was shown how to make things also; from the wood, I mean, how to build," he said quickly.

"Yes, that you know. But from the books you would learn much more. Would you like to be able to read?" Elrond asked.

"To read…" on Legolas' face appeared an absent expression, as if he reached forward with his thoughts into the future he imagined. "I would… only…" through his face suddenly flitted a shadow of worry. It was unheard of that a slave was allowed to read. Books were always items of luxury, of knowledge, tools hidden and forbidden to them by law.

"Only?"

Legolas glanced at his Master's kind face. He observed him with kindness and no shadow of annoyance or malice. It was no trap.

"I would like to learn how to read," Legolas answered, straightening on the chair. Elrond grinned.

"Then I shall teach you! And since we have some time now, and no plans, I may actually show you something." He laughed and Legolas caught his hand quickly to kiss it in a gesture of pure thankfulness. Once again Elrond shook his head at the submissive posture, but did not comment at that.

He led his young student to his own, private library. Here he kept books especially dear to his heart or the most useful ones when it came to healing or medical issues. Elrond seated Legolas at the huge table, covered with books and papers, standing in the middle of the high chamber. While the Lord busied himself with lighting some more candles for better light, Legolas took a closer look around the room. Leaf-shadowed light was coming through the stained-glass window. The walls were thoroughly covered with wide shelves, and there thousands of books were placed, without even one empty place. Legolas was staring at the mountains of books with amazement. He couldn't imagine that one could have read them all. Elrond caught the look.

"You are wondering if I have read them all, aren't you?" he asked with a smile. Legolas nodded shyly. "Yes, I have. You will read them too."

"When, my Lord?" Legolas laughed quietly.

"Oh, you have all eternity for it." Elrond chuckled and sat near the Elf at the table. "Now tell me, have you ever had a quill in your hand?"

"No, my Lord, never."

"So firstly… this is your quill, and this is your ink. Take it, please" Elrond said, handing him the white quill.

Legolas took in slightly trembling fingers this new gift, whispering his thanks. It fit in his hand perfectly.

"So light…" he whispered. Elrond smiled and moved closer to Legolas.

"Now look. To write, you have to dip a tip of your quill in the ink. Not so deep, not so deep…" Elrond cupped Legolas' hand in his and guided him. "And now be careful not to put too much pressure on it, otherwise the tip will break. Now you write" Elrond led the fair hand tentatively on the parchment. It did not resemble any lettering, only a waving trail, but Legolas sighed in awe. Elrond dipped the quill again.

"This time we will write something… My…name…is…Legolas" he was saying loudly as the letters were appearing. Legolas gasped.

"This is how my name looks like?" he asked.

"Yes" Elrond laughed. "I will show you how others' names look like, and you will be able to write down all possible words on your own. I will teach you."

Legolas' eyes were as beautiful as never before. He looked at Elrond with a smile and a delicate blush of excitement covering his cheeks. Those eyes were clear, wide open, smiling, glowing; thankful.

"It is possible to write because of the alphabet. These…" Elrond opened a book with a big table. "…are all letters of the alphabet (2). They are the smallest part of any language. In proper arrangement they are creating words. To build my name, you will need six letters. 'E', it is this one" and he showed Legolas the letter. "then 'l', 'r', 'o', 'n' and finally 'd'. Now let me introduce to you all the letters and their names. You will need to remember them all, but it's not so difficult. You will try to copy each letter, when I tell you its name, agree? For example…"

/*/

They had spent few long hours in the library. When Glorfindel came to talk with his liege, he noticed the two buried in discussion and work and he just had no heart to interrupt them. Legolas tried and tried, obviously, for the parchment of paper lying before him was covered in shapeless letters and stained with smeared ink. Elrond's eyes were glowing nevertheless, when he explained again how to hold the quill properly. Legolas complained silently that his letters would never resemble the slender, beautiful marks in the primer before him. Elrond actually laughed and patted the blond head with compassion.

"Of course they will," he said. "The beginning is always the hardest. And I have kept you working long enough by now, the next lesson will be shorter. You must be tired, little leaf."

"I… feel strange, Master. I have never worked… with my head."

Elrond smiled at such a metaphor. He collected some more parchments, the primer, the quill and the ink and moved them over to Legolas, who was still eyeing his pitiful results with a disappointed and self-angry expression.

"These you will take with you. When you have some free time, try to practice and give your letters the shape more similar to this in the book. You shall come tomorrow at six o'clock, alright? For an hour, I think. This will be enough for a start." Elrond caressed Legolas' head again. "As for your first time, you really did well, trust me."

Legolas smiled sadly and once again compared the letters in the book with his letters.

"Don't be so strict for yourself." Elrond whispered. "Now, up. With little luck you will find Verién downstairs and you may take a walk in the gardens. Some air and movement would do you good now."

Legolas obediently rose and gathered mentioned things in his arms. Elrond smiled at the sight, recalling a picture of his sons, when he was teaching them to read so many years ago. They looked like Legolas, with books beneath their armpits, with quills and papers, stained with ink on their hands, cheeks and hair. Only they were children, while Legolas was a man already.

"Master?" Legolas said.

"Yes?" Elrond focused. Present while is always better than memories, and he would replace memories with the sight of his children within minutes.

"I want to thank you, Master. Thank you so much for teaching me" Legolas said.

"Thank you for teaching me as well," Elrond whispered more to himself, nodding slowly. He caught the sight of Glorfindel waiting for him and quickly put the book he was holding away. "Now go, Legolas. We will see each other at the supper."

Legolas noticed Glorfindel as well, greeted him courteously, pressing his new gifts to his chest. Then he sent his Lord one more thankful smile, bowed low and quickly went out.

/*/

"From Mirkwood, you say?" Elrohir asked, staring at the beautiful, red and orange sunset before him. Next to him his brother folded a thin blade of grass in his fingers, deep in thought. The white stone stairs the three were sitting upon was lingered by a warm, sparkling light of the last rays of the waning sun.

"Poor creature. He is a little brainwashed, you know." Verién stretched her legs in front of her, sighing. Her thoughts wandered again to the small, pale face wearing the look of hesitance most of the time.

"One could suppose as much."

Elladan and Elrohir have just returned from the horse riding trip. They had never expected to see Verién, for she was unpredictable with all her comes and goes. Greeting her like a sister, they shared much laughter during the happy reunion. Now the girl told them about the newest Imladris citizen.

"You know what, I have been thinking…" Elladan started.

"Oh no." Elrohir muttered.

"… tomorrow we are going to the archery grounds with 'Ro," Elladan said as if he didn't hear his brother at all. "Maybe you could take him with you and meet us. He seemingly needs some friends." He suggested to Verién.

"He does. Thank you, guys. Only… behave around him. It is quite a delicate issue."

"We will, mommy."

"He will find a thread of understanding quicker with us than with you. We are boys, and boys keep together."

"Keep together, huh?..." She smiled. "Anyway, I'm glad you're back. I so wanted to see you."

"We too." Elrohir sighed, lazily watching the sun sink behind the line of the forest and the warm glow slowly wither. "Looks like we are needed here. Ada is behaving strangely. Erestor is angry at Glorfindel. We have a brainwashed Elf to save. It's gonna be a busy summer."

"Absolutely."

A few more minutes and the red hot globe of life-giving sun disappeared from their field of vision and died behind the horizon.

Saturday. Or Sunday, for Elves had only six days per week.

(2) I used the word 'alphabet' and the letters we use, for it was simpler to write it this way. I am no expert when it comes to using Sindarin, even quoting it, not to mention _teaching_ it. I shall leave this to the more skilled writers.


	12. Hidden nature of misunderstandings

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: Beware Author's lack of knowledge about horses. But I remind this is a world of fiction.

Chapter 12: HIDDEN NATURE OF MISUNDERSTANDINGS

/*/

"Oh, please… where are you taking me I demand to know," Legolas was sulking. Being led by Verién, he had his right hand entrapped in a fierce hold and was being pulled forward, all his pleas or threats futile. They have walked out of the palace.

"Demand?" Verién giggled. "That's good to hear. Finally some spirit."

"Instead of teasing me, tell me where we are going!" Legolas rolled his eyes, unwillingly trotting behind her.

"To the archery grounds. Not far; just behind the stables, you must know where it is." She said, giving him a flash of her bright smile. "I want you to meet someone."

Legolas immediately tensed. He felt uneasy outside the safe confinement of the palace and meeting someone unknown was an additional stress. Once again he tried to break free, but did not succeeded and with a depressed sigh kept his eyes trained on the ground, paying no attention to the passing surroundings.

Soon they reached the long, green field, secluded with a thin, but impervious barrier of a hedgerow. It was quite high and reached well above a grown Elf's waist. There was a neatly made entrance behind a wooden arch, occupied by a meander of ivy. A little further he spotted a few small houses painted in red, where all supplies were kept. Several Elves meeting them on their way nodded their hello and Gwaithtir waved a hand from far away. Seemingly he had come here for a little training also. Legolas shyly returned the gesture.

Verién led him to the very end of the shorter side of the field. Here, preoccupied with firing arrow after arrow, stood two identical Elves. They both had dark brown hair, adorned with the royal braids of Imladris, just like those Lord Elrond was wearing so often. They were moving in similar way, their excited voices were very much alike and the air around them spoke about close familiarity. The way they were holding themselves, addressing one another – an affectionate speech of more or less obvious insults – indicated that they were either very close friends or brothers. In the second Legolas saw them from afar he could suspect as much. But it was when he saw their faces he knew who they are – he was looking at the twin sons of Lord Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir. The similarity to their Sire was obvious.

"Hey 'Ro, look who's coming," one of them pulled the other one's sleeve. Both Elves turned to the approaching Verién and the person she was hauling behind her.

"Hi little sister," the one on the left spoke. "We were waiting for you. Who's there with you?"

"Someone I'd like you to meet," she said and pulled Legolas more to the front. "Here. This is Legolas, a new resident in Rivendell. Uncle Elrond had taken care of him in the infirmary for a long time, but now he is up and about. He has spent only two months in here."

"Welcome, then," one of the twins said and grabbed a hold of Legolas' forearm in a warrior greeting. "My name is Elladan. I'm glad to meet you, Legolas."

"I am Elrohir," the other one said, repeating his brother's gesture. "It is nice to see you, Verién has been talking a lot about you. Her friends are our friends."

All three noted that Legolas was stiff and rigid as if frozen and endured the touch only because these were his betters. His voice was faltering when he spoke the well-taught, polite greeting phrase, going down on his knees before his superiors. Verién made a movement as if she wanted to haul him up, and the twins stared at him in complete astonishment.

"No, no, Legolas, do not kneel before us," the one called Elladan said quickly, having recovered from the shock sooner than his brother. "We want to treat you as an equal. There is no need to do this."

They have both leaned down and helped Legolas up, although he would have rather stayed there for the rest of the day, hiding behind Verién, so that he could remain invisible. He bowed low in response to Elladan's words, not understanding their meaning yet again, but nevertheless recognizing the soothing tone that was used and behaviour so similar to Elrond's.

"Are you afraid, Legolas?" Elrohir asked gently. "Do not be. We are sons of Elrond, we won't do you any harm."

"I have brought you here to meet someone new, Legolas. So that they can befriend you like I did," Verién said, rubbing the thin arm. "Relax. Nothing wrong is happening. Well?" she searched with her eyes for his eyes, and when he finally gathered enough courage to hold her gaze, he gave a very weak smile. It was clearly seen that he felt uncomfortable and would gladly return to washing dishes.

It was Elladan who saved the whole situation.

"Come on, we can take a little break in our spar. I have brought some water and rice bread to the field, let's sit for a while." He led the three into the wooden pavilion in the very corner of the field, few meters down the road. The small building was thoroughly overgrown by honeysuckle and jasmine and offered some pleasant shade. Rough wooden benches placed around the octagon structure invited one to sit down; a convenient table in the middle was of a circular shape and had only one leg made of fair, carved wood.

Legolas sat near Verién, cautiously keeping to whom he already knew. The table was a very good idea, he concluded, noting that it would not be possible to launch at or attack anyone quickly enough to avoid a painful hit in the hip or pelvis when encountering the center-piece. But as far the twins were calm and good-natured, showing no signs of aggression, courteously allowing Legolas to keep distance from them. They kept sending him curious glances, but without malicious underlining.

Small leather cups were produced from Elladan's bag, as well as a good flask of water and a bundle of rice bread as mentioned. His brother poured some of the water into the cups and divided the snack between them. Legolas was thirsty, but would rather wait until the twins drank first. Verién seemed to have read this thought, for she raised her water so that he could clearly see it and drank it all without hesitation. Only then Legolas dared to follow her example.

"We heard you come from Mirkwood," Elrohir asked slowly. "Is that true?"

"Yes, my Lord," Legolas whispered.

"Please, forego any title, alright? We want to be your friends, no need to put any more distance between us." Elladan advised and his brother gave an encouraging nod.

"We have never been in the Mirkwood forest. We heard tales, though," Elrohir continued his thought. "About deep and dangerous thicket of trees and bushes, giant spiders residing in the darkness, magical traps laid for intruders. Maybe you could tell us more about this mysterious realm." He asked politely, settling for a fairly safe ground of conversation.

"I… have been in the forest only few times, when we were cutting down the trees. We needed wood… to build the fortress and the household buildings. I hated that work, for trees… trees have always been dear to me…" Legolas swallowed thickly. "Anyway, I have never been in the deep woods, Sir…"

"Elrohir," the twin said with a small smile. "No Sir."

Legolas nodded gloomily, without looking at his new acquaintances. When Verién laid a hand on his arm, he raised his eyes to her.

"But you can hear the trees speaking, don't you? You are a woodelf." She pointed. That made both of the twins gasp silently and caused a new set of excited questions.

"You can hear them always? Whenever you come close to one? Or do you need to focus very hard to hear?"

"And what are they saying? Can you respond, so that you can talk?"

"Do they understand what you are saying? Are you using your voice in the first place, or rather think a clear message and they read it?"

"How are you doing this, Legolas? It's wonderful! Not many Noldor can do that, I think even Ada would have problems," they kept asking. Legolas blinked rapidly, quite unbelieving that he impressed them. He started talking, sending them an amazed stare that anyone would take interest in him. He discovered that it was a pleasant feeling.

"I have always heard the trees. I hear their whispers as they are far away, melting in a continuous, melodic rustle, that way I used to fall asleep in… in the cellars. We had small windows near the ceiling, and we heard… the trees' song." The twins nodded, Verién was observing him kindly. He started talking, that was good.

"To hear one voice of the tree I need to come closer. When I sit on the branches, the voice is stronger. It hums in my head, as if it was flowing in through one ear and out through the other," Legolas smiled. "I can respond either in speech or thought. But I prefer thoughts, they understand it better, and the emotion attached…"

The twins glanced to one another, overawed and surprised.

"Does the speech of the trees in Imladris differ from the Mirkwood's one?" Elladan asked.

Legolas held his eyes. "Yes, it does." He said silently. "The trees here speak of sun, of birds and nests, of greenery, of fresh water. Here land is rich with water. They are safe. They grow until they are high and proud. The older the tree, the more clear its voice is," Legolas explained. "In Mirkwood almost every tree had its own voice. Here I see many saplings, having no voice of their own yet."

There was a pause. No one hurried him; Legolas sighed, hesitating. His voice was shaking a bit when he started talking again.

"The song of the trees here is lively during the day. Only in the evening they become more nostalgic. I… miss the sad song of spruces… they were always willing to listen, they were… compassionate."

Silence occurred. Finally Elrohir sighed and drained his cup quickly.

"It's a great gift, Legolas. Great indeed. I would be glad to be able to hear a tree speaking to me. My brother heard it once," the Elf gestured at his twin, "and he said it was a thrilling experience."

"Only once," Elladan murmured, "I had to be very focused, very calm, it was a bit like meditative state. But it was wonderful. To be able to hear trees without problem, just so… you amazed me, Legolas," he said with a respectful bow of his head, "for I know for certain that though this skill is especially woodelves' domain, some of them don't hear the trees at all lately."

"True," said Legolas somberly.

"If I may suggest something," Verién spoke, "maybe we should find a bow for Legolas? A light one, so that he can try archery."

"Great idea!" Elrohir jumped on his feet immediately and, as Legolas predicted earlier, hit of the table with his thigh. Uttering a pained curse, he stumbled out of the pavilion, hurried by his laughing brother.

The friends led Legolas to one of the red-painted houses and were greeted by the guards sitting there. They were taking care of the armours and weaponry stored inside, and as the duty was a rather boring one, they produced some cards and foursome was deeply immersed in a game.

"Oh ho," Elladan snorted as he saw this, "what a pity we hadn't came earlier! You play for money?"

"No," one of the guards grinned, "for grog."

"May we borrow two bows?" Verién asked, slowly walking along the walls fastened with great number of weapons. She stopped near one longbow from yew wood and took it in hand, testing its power with her fingers.

"This one would be too stiff for you, lass, you need much strength to pull this string," one of the guards stood up, abandoning the cards. His companions immediately checked what he was holding with totally innocent faces.

"It would be just right," she said stubbornly. "I have a bow very similar to this one. Now, what we need is a light bow for Legolas," she resumed her wandering along the walls. The guard told Legolas to stretch out his right hand and tested his muscles. The Elf was slightly apprehensive, giving the guard a scared glare, but he only laughed at his expression and handed him a short bow of fair wood, putting the string in its correct place.

"This will suit him," he said and returned to the table. "Take some arrows from the corner and please retrieve them after the training. What the… which one of you touched my cards! Speak quickly!"

Before they could be involved in any fight, the twins, Legolas and Verién walked out with the bows and arrows. Now Elladan and Elrohir were leading the way, chatting merrily, and soon Legolas saw they were coming closer to the wicker wall of painted targets. When they were a little more than halfway to them, they stopped and armed their bows.

"Here, this is for you," Verién said and handed the short bow to Legolas. He gave her a scared look.

"Listen, I don't know if I can… I am not allowed to touch any weapon, especially one that kills from afar… Verién, Master won't like it…"

"Master? What Master?" Elladan asked suddenly.

"Lord Elrond," Verién said quickly. "I am sure he wouldn't…"

"You call our father 'Master'?" demanded Elladan. "Ai Valar!"

"But he is my Master," Legolas stammered quietly, taking a step back.

The twins were just about pursuing this matter and getting this wretched idea out of Legolas' mind, but Verién stopped them quickly.

"Don't mess in his head! Elladan, Elrohir! This is your Father's thing to explain and his matter to decide when," she stated firmly and thus ended the discussion, even if the two brothers stared wide-eyed and dismayed at their new friend a good while longer.

"Alright now," the girl added in much gentler tone, "do not concern yourself with Lord Elrond's wrath, for none of this will happen. He would approve that you start to get familiar with the art of archery, which fames your woodland kin. Take the bow."

Behind her the twins smiled encouragingly, and so Legolas shyly extended a hand. The bow was light, albeit heavier than it seemed. Its polished surface was delicately adorned with a trail of delicate, darker leaves.

"Good. Now, take an arrow," Elladan passed him the full quiver, "and I will show you how to fire it. Grip the bow fiercely just a bit below its middle, now adjust the arrow… like this," the Elf showed, standing behind the blonde and directing his hands. Legolas moved away at first, feeling sudden panic rising at the feeling of a hard and muscled, definitely male body being pressed to his back, but tried to control himself. Fear had not left him, but he discovered Elladan did not stay pressed to him any second longer than needed. He took it as a good sign and abiding his instructions, fired an arrow.

And failed miserably, of course. The arrow didn't fly at all, only fell from his fingers as soon as he let the bowstring go. Elladan helped him rearrange it, take aim, corrected the way his fingers held the feathery tip.

"Pull it harder," he advised. "And try to aim a bit higher, it will fly further this way… Like that," Elladan moved away. "Now fire it!"

Some time they struggled to let the arrows in the air, but finally succeeded. Elladan was proud and grinned happily at the first hit into the target Legolas gave. Elrohir and Verién were firing arrow after arrow into the neigbour target on the right from a longer distance and argued cheerfully about the score each of them got. Elladan beamed at his student, who was managing better and better and even started to enjoy this new activity, which wasn't as hard as he imagined.

"Practice makes perfection," Elladan laughed happily. "The best archers I know are not the most talented ones. It's work and experience that make the best," he said, patting Legolas' arm in a friendly gesture.

"Y-y-you think so, Elladan?" the Elf hesitantly asked, the name foreign on his tongue, but the joy unhidden.

"Sure I do! Hey you two, come and see how great Legolas is doing!" Elladan called to his brother and cousin. They both came closer in curious attention. Now being under stress of observation Legolas failed to give a nice shot, but being encouraged fervently again he pulled himself together and fired. The arrow hit the red circle in the target – far from the centre, but still there it was, fiercely embedded in the surface of the tri-color painted disc.

"Hey, dear brothers," Verién said with a smile, coming closer to the target. "He is good!"

"You have a talent, Legolas. That was amazing, really… Provided you are using a bow for the first time…" Elrohir said, patting Legolas' arm friendly and smiling.

"Jealous, brother?" Elladan whispered to his brother's ear and received a kick.

"I… thank you," Legolas turned slightly red, a visible proof that he was flattered.

"What about that: would you like to practice with us? We are here almost every afternoon, so if you choose to learn, we will be glad to help you," the twins proposed. Legolas agreed happily; a completely forgotten feeling returned now with full force. He was proud of himself. He stole a glance in the happy eyes of Verién and in that instant he knew that there had been nothing to fear from the beginning.

Maybe I should stay out of the palace more, he concluded, caressing the polished, fair surface of the first bow he had held in his hands.

/*/

What have happened? How was that even possible? Had he done something to make up for the sins of his past? How come he was being given so much, when he obviously didn't deserve any of it? Maybe the Valar made a mistake and allowed all these wonderful things to happen to the wrong person, maybe out there was someone waiting for it, and Legolas was ruining it?

Such thoughts ran through the fair, disbelieving head when his days went flying by with the three friends in the most beautiful Elven realm he had ever seen. There must have been some kind of misunderstanding, he concluded, but he was so unwilling to know its core. He would so much prefer never to find out the reason of this misdoing and keep his friends with him. He knew it was yet another transgression against the fate and it only added to heavy his conscience, but he could not help but go with the twins and Verién on yet another escapade.

New friendship worked like a balm on his wounded soul. Waking in the morning he knew he would not be forced into another full day of work with no one to talk to, for there was always Verién pottering about in the kitchens. She was helping with what she could, whether it was hanging out the washing or some field work. Whatever she was doing, she was humming or singing and Legolas used to locate her during his work relying on his ears. Neremiel was also more funny and happy as she had a good friend to help her in the kitchen; the two girls were giggling and gossiping and Legolas had to subdue a smile many a time, listening to their conversation.

The twin sons of Elrond were helping at court. Their Adar, proud and satisfied that they returned, eagerly included them in his council and order daily routine. They were of a big help to him, being responsible and dependable; they shared the knowledge from Lórien with the nobles, discussed about politics and actual maneuvers of the biggest Elven realms in Arda. In the name of their Sire they listened to petitioners and handled smaller matters, but always reported everything solemnly to Ada. The duty they liked the most, however, was carrying messages and gathering information on riding patrols. They could never tire of this and longed for the army duty every time they were enclosed in a cool council hall with a hundred of nobly boring councilors.

But as their work ended, they used to grab Legolas out of the kitchens or his room and search for Verién. As the four was together, summer seemed to smile with joy upon them. For Legolas these moments were the most precious and he awaited them every day with a fierce longing. He stopped fearing every new morrow, even if it held surprises and changes rather too quick as for his liking. He was not alone. With every passing day he learned to trust his new friends more and was unwilling to let go of the thought that they had chosen to be in his presence willingly. After a few weeks of such treatment he started to seek them out himself and was never rebuked.

They had taken him to the stables, but not to work, only to teach him horse riding. They chose Verién's horse, as the mare was gentle and seemed to like him. First thing he did was to ask for her species.

"Oh, she is a little bastard, like her rider," Verién sighed, tenderly petting the mare behind the left ear. "She is rather plump and stumpy, isn't she? That's because her Sire was of Rohan's horse masters' type. Her mother though was a common mountain pony. That way she has so much fur, rich fetlocks, she is short and quite lazy. Although she has a stamina of a battle horse and agility of the mountain trekker, as well as his shrewdness and wit, and can go long even in the cold of winter." The girl smiled, giving her mare a lump of sugar. "Is it not so, my dear Roachie? We are both one of the kind. The best from the best from the best!" she laughed and consumed one lump herself. The mare actually _nodded_ at the words of her lady; that short up and down movement of her head could not be mistaken. Verién laughed at the stupefied expression of the three and put in her mouth another sweet. That was specifically not to the mare's liking and she recapitulated this by an ungentle shove in the girl's arm and an annoyed neigh, demanding more caresses and more sugar.

"Are these two communicating with each other in some psychic way?" Legolas asked Elrohir, deadly serious. The twin turned his brown eyes to him.

"I'm afraid you will have to ask the horse to know. Roachie is much more talkative when it comes to secrets than her lady." He answered him soberly. Legolas nodded slowly in thoughtful understanding.

"And why actually you call Verién sister?" he dared to ask. "She is your…"

"…cousin, yes," Elrohir admitted. "But she has no one else and we have only one her. So we treat her as a sister and she is one."

"I too have no one else and you have only one me." Legolas said suddenly, having no control of this thought, which slipped away unchecked before he thought better.

"Exactly," Elladan nodded. "And so there will be a day, I feel it, when we shall call you brother and you shall see us yours."

/*/

Learning to ride on a horse was one of the most pleasant happenings in Legolas' life. Roachie was being led by Elladan, who held the reins and walked slowly in circles around the huge paddock. Legolas tried to get familiar with the horse and manage to stay upright, which wasn't easy at the beginning. Yet Roach was smaller and calmer than most of the horses and soon their walks transferred into self-dependant rides, when it was Legolas who held the reigns and tried to control the horse.

"Now, if you feel you cannot control her, just focus on staying in the saddle, alright? When I whistle, she will obey me and return here. You are going alone, lad," Verién said when he was certain enough to try a quicker pace. Legolas nodded and urged Roachie to an undemanding run. It went smoothly. He and the animal developed some kind of tolerance, yet Roachie knew she was leading, for Legolas was simply too afraid still. Feeling no power over her, the mare decided to go into a frisky gallop. Seemingly she had been confined in the stall for far too long.

Legolas tried to subjugate the ever quickening horse, but to his fright succeeded not. He only managed to clutch her muscled neck with both his arms to stay atop her. Verién whistled long and shrilly twice, before the mare returned in a saddened and frustrated trot to the point where her lady was jumping over the fence.

"Legolas, are you alive? Can you stand?" she asked with worry as he immediately slipped from the saddle and stumbled backwards.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, trying to stand on his shaking legs and feeling his knees going out under him. The twins came to his aid immediately.

"I think your mare needs some good running, Verién," Elrohir said. "Good riding until she's spent. She has been in the stall a bit too long."

"Oh yes, we shall take care of it, young lady," Verién hissed to her mare and the animal actually turned the big eyes away as if in shame. "You sure everything's alright, Legolas?"

"Yes, all is well," the Elf answered, regaining the ability to walk.

"So it was too soon for a gallop. But worry not, all with time. You stayed in the saddle, which is a deed in itself. And as for someone having too much energy," the girl jumped on the saddle and roughly urged the mare to a neck-breaking gallop. The horse seemed to wait for this, since the mare started almost from the spot, with no runaway whatsoever.

"Will I be able to ride like this one day?" Legolas asked, his eyes going wide at the sight of Roachie jumping over the higher fence and galloping down the paths leading to the river.

"Sure you will. Even without the saddle, as in the old days. On a bigger horse, more durable, faster and braver one. On a real Imladris' blood horse. Like that black stallion over there," Elrohir pointed. On the other side of the paddock the stable boys were leading the beautiful mount that awed Legolas in the very first days of his stay in Rivendell.

"But wouldn't it be just too much of luck?" the blonde asked very quietly.

/*/

Soon it showed that it was possible to go even further down the valley and after passing the lively market Legolas saw the huge, silvery river, spilled wide and caressing the shore with a fierce current. 'Bruinen', Elladan explained to the overawed Legolas. The twins thought he might be seeing something like this for the first time, for his eyes were wide as saucers as he took in the sight. He could not move a single limb for a good time, just listen to the beauty of the water's song and the murmur of the happy, sated trees near the bank. Elrohir gathered the courage to venture into that very delicate spot in Legolas' mind, still sealed with black stains of incoherence or terror, and dared a statement that he must have seen Bruinen before, for he was crossing it in order to get to Rivendell.

Legolas did not look at him, only sat on the cold stones, his knees brought to his chest, fists near his temples. With a deep frown he observed the river as if it held the answer and could give it to him should he continue to meditate. The twins sat on both his sides, never urging him up.

After some time he relaxed and sighed sadly.

"I can't remember," he said quietly. "I can't remember no matter how much I try. As you say, I had to see the river, for I had to travel through it; yet I have no recollection about that event."

"You have more of such gaps in your memory?" Elladan asked after a while.

"Yes," Legolas answered, "actually… there is more I cannot remember that what I actually do, I'm afraid." The Elf shrugged. "But maybe I don't want to know more. Why ruin it, when my own mind has built this defense?"

To this the twins could not find a suitable answer.

The trips did not end just on seeing the shores of Bruinen. The mountains that lay behind the palace and woody hills were beautiful, wild and unhindered gardens of all Yavanna's creations, cool and fantastic during the day, enticing and mysterious during night. The waterfalls were something Legolas really enjoyed to see. His friends took him on a long ride upstream and climbed the slippery boulders just above the waterfall. The sprinkling water and roar of the falling masses was indescribable. As dangerous as the trip was, it was so unforgettable; they returned completely drenched, tired and sore, but quietly happy.

The close neighborhood of the Last Homely House also offered much. At the market Legolas was instructed what to do with the money he was being given for his work monthly, for he had no idea that he had this money for himself and could spend it. They took him to the tailor and helped him choose some garments. Legolas eyed the packs wrapped in brown paper with a quiet, stunned disbelief; these were his and only his clothes. He didn't get them from his Master, he _bought_ them. And that made a difference.

The gardens that were kept hidden from many prying eyes now were thoroughly explored, even the private ones of the Royal family, the ones that Celebrian herself was planning and caring for. There Legolas rested with his friends, experiencing a totally new level of peace within these beautiful gardens, as if soaked through with benevolent, healing magic.

Once Legolas and Verién were summoned to help in a cowshed, so using the opportunity, Verién showed him all the household animals. Legolas had been milking cows before and so had the girl; they had huge fun and drank lots of warm, greasy milk, the freshest it could be. Pigs welcomed them also, as they came to provide them with food and clean the surroundings, but goats weren't welcoming at all. They made that up with the white, fluffy rabbits and whole flocks of yellow chickens, small and beautiful and chirping so noisily they could not hear a word of their reciprocal joy.

Legolas came to like all the household surroundings and even felt safe there; unfortunately, one accident almost shattered the hard won feeling. One day when he was just walking with his friends a big, hairy dog ran to them, waving his tail in a greeting, eager to feel caressing hands of his Elven friends on him. The twins knew that dog well and were very fond of him; potions of their Ada helped to save his life when he was just a puppy abandoned near the river bank and half-drowned. In the old dog custom, Whisker came straight to Legolas to sniff him around, paying no heed to his tense and rigid form. Curious and fond of what he sniffed, the dog jumped on the Elf with both his front paws, obviously inviting him to play. Legolas wailed in fear and did the only thing that came to his mind: he started running away. Naturally Whisker followed, barking loudly, according to the unwritten law of all dogs: when it runs, hunt it.

The twins and Verién were in motion in seconds, but none of them could overrun a panicked Elf. Legolas got to the first tree he encountered and terrified to his core climbed it as high as he could in rapidness and agility the three friends have never seen. Whisker kept waving his tail and barking, circling around the trunk, excited and fond of this new play.

"Legolas, what's wrong? It's just Whisker, just a dog!" Elrohir called. The Elf did not respond, only shook his head in denial.

"Come down, he won't do anything. You don't have to be afraid!"

"NO!" Legolas shouted from above, hiding his face in hands. "No, no, no… won't come down…"

"But why did you run? Never run away from a dog! It's obvious he will follow! It's just an instinct!" Verién called to the woodland creature crumbled in the tree crown. "Calm down and come down from there, be at peace."

"No," Legolas hiccupped. "No, I won't come down! There is no way you can force me!" he yelled back. This was as unexpected as unnatural, for Legolas had always been submissive. Now Elladan, Elrohir and Verién did not know whether to be glad of this sudden flash of spirit or irritated at the timing of it.

"Legolas, he won't do anything! He only wants to play!" Elladan called.

"No!" was Legolas' stubborn mantra. Soon they discovered that the Elf is simply crying, hugging to the stern trunk and wrapping his limbs around it. It was a shock to the twins. While Verién was prepared and could suspect such a behavior may occur at some point, Elladan and Elrohir were completely dumbfounded. Finally Elrohir climbed up on the tree and tried to coax Legolas down personally.

"Please, Legolas, they are holding the dog. I am here. Let me take you down," he soothed.

"…huge, red eyes, sharp teeth… running after him… biting… blood on the snow," Legolas was muttering between the sobs as if he was talking to an invisible somebody. Elrohir could make no sense of it, though. Finally he just wrapped his arm around the Elf's waist and pulled him onto his branch. Overcoming the immediate flash of panic by soothing words and a fierce hug, Elrohir slowly, persuasively made his way down the tree, escorting the crying woodelf. As Whisker came closer to him again, Legolas mewled pitifully and tried to get back up on the branches, but restricted with Elrohir's form, he just clung close to the twin, squealing in fright.

"Here, Legolas, these are not the dogs from Mirkwood," Verién once again surprised everyone with her knowledge of the Valar-forsaken realm. "Whisker just needs to learn your scent. He won't bite, he will just sniff you," she said, holding the dog fiercely, but allowing him to catch Legolas' scent. "Now you may safely turn. He satisfied his curiosity and will take no more interest of you, save when you initiate it. Look at him, he's not vicious at all," she said calmly, touching Legolas' arm. Elladan knelt strategically in front of Legolas, putting himself between the Elf and the animal, showing that he trusted the dog and could let his guard down. Elrohir held Legolas fast and prevented a dash on the tree again.

"Look, he is calm and curious," Verién soothed, stroking the thick beige fur of Whisker's. "When you meet a dog you do not know, first let him smell you. Do not look him in the eyes, for this is taken as a challenge, and don't stroke his head, for he would read it as if you want to dominate him. Just let him get familiar with you, then you may slowly touch him. Do you want to stroke him?"

Legolas shook his head so violently that he sent his blond tresses flying. Elrohir shushed him friendly and joined the speech.

"He won't bite you, really he won't. Just look," he said and patted the dog's nape. Whisker squirmed in joy and waved his tail at this new attention. "See? He won't suddenly attack you, he has been raised here and is accustomed to Elves. None of them hit him or hurt him. He has been fed well and regularly. He gets lots of affection and time for play. He has no reason to be evil-natured. Now, don't be scared; touch him. Come on," the Elf coaxed, and reassuring murmurs of his friends added to encouraging.

"Try, it's not dangerous. Look, I'm kneeling in front of him, I cannot possibly stand up quick enough to prevent being bitten should he attack me. But I let my guard down, because I'm certain he won't do it," Elladan said convincingly. "Extend your hand and just stroke his back."

The dog seemed to know that Legolas was afraid of him, for he was sitting patiently and waving his tail, which swept the ground under it repeatedly, leaving a half circle trail. He was panting while breathing, for the whole day of watching the household in a warm weather must have been tiresome. The long, pink tongue was lying steadily on top of the strong teeth of the lower jaw. Legolas was focused on these parted jaws. Knowing what dares, he slowly extended his hand.

The dog first raised his big, black and wet nose to nudge the soft palm and smell it again, but made no protest nor move to get away, so Legolas shyly touched the animal's nape.

"Good," Elrohir whispered. "See? He likes you," the twin smiled, pointing the never stopping movement of the tail. "Don't be scared, pat him. It's alright."

Shyly moving his hand up and down the fur, Legolas slowly relaxed. Whisker was simply allowing Legolas to stroke him, paying more attention to Elladan, who found a long stick on the ground and teased the dog with it to finally throw it far away. Whisker darted off in the direction of the throw immediately, barking happily and abandoning the group of friends.

"You're still shaking," Verién whispered, reaching for the blonde, who thankfully stepped into her embrace. "You need to calm down before we come back to the palace. Shush now, we shall go to the kitchens, what say you? Belithravien promised to make the muffins today."

Legolas nodded, more comfortable with this well known destination. The twins just followed, exchanging meaningful looks.

The kitchens were actually a very important place in Legolas' mind. In the evenings he and his friends were sometimes helping Belithravien in baking fresh bread for the next day. Legolas liked this activity so much that he often offered to help even if not required. He loved Belithravien's warm and slow rambling and the smell of bread, the safe dimness ruling over the nightly kitchen. It all reminded him of his many 'mothers'. In a way, he just considered Belithravien the next one. As he was quietly sitting on the table, swinging his legs in the air, the woman liked to come close and press him to her breast in a protective hug. Legolas would allow her and even sigh contently, but only after some time he began to respond. But he did, which was progress and a good improvement.

And not the only one. The twins took care of his physical education, Verién was always there to assist and explain, Master was revealing the art of writing to the stunned Elf. These lessons he loved the most, even if it required lots of focus from him. He felt protected when in his Master's presence. He liked to be near him. He trusted him, and after each meeting, full of learning and theory of course, but also including a normal talk of all the events of the day, Legolas could feel this trust and love extend. Elrond wanted to know everything: what he was doing, where he had been, what he learned, how he felt, what else he would want to see or hear explained. Legolas kept talking and all the more often he found himself trustingly sitting on his Lord's lap after the lesson and sharing all that he experienced. He came to love these evenings.

The ones spent with Arwen were also wonderful, but different in their nature. The maiden used to lead him to the Hall of Fire to listen to the Elven voices, poetry and songs, so that he could hear the legends and tales of his people. A few times he was asked to sing also. He recalled the sad songs he was taught in his childhood and lead a sorrowful tune, when the mists were gathering between the high trees of the Imladris' mountains.

Arwen was also taking him on a long and slow walks in the gardens, when she was speaking softly of the time before time, when the Valar were building a home for the Children of Ilúvatar. She told him of the great miracles they have done, of the most beautiful canopy of stars, made by Elbereth and seen by the Firstborn. She described the majesty of the Two Trees and other creations of Yavanna. She praised Ulmo's waters and the sweet air, rule of Manwë.

Legolas was listening and his beliefs were slowly changing; he could never accuse Arwen of lying, and he knew well she was speaking the truth. Yet his own mind contradicted with the acceptance of the merciful fathers and so he was in turmoil. Even Elrond said he cannot help him in this matter, for one's beliefs are a very personal matter which should not be interfered. For some time Legolas was in anguish.

But anguish or not, he knew there must be some kind of fate over his life. He did not trust it; he rather feared it. But it was a fear full of respect. He had suffered a lot, but now he was also given a lot. Still, respect for his fate was the only thing he could bring himself to feel now. And it was enough for that moment, as the smiling Elrond whispered into his ear.

Summer was passing. Warm, even hot days still came, but Legolas could feel that _laer_ was coming to an end. As he first came to Imladris in the very beginning of _laer(1)_, he spent full three months here under the protective, warm skies of Rivendell. Now, as _iavas_ began for good, thunderstorms came more and more often. Verién decided she could no longer reside on the unprepared loft she had occupied for the summer, as Legolas was lodged in her room. He kept pleading for her to return and throw him out instead, in his guilt he even talked to Erestor and his Master about that. Verién however stubbornly refused to come back to her chamber and sleep in one room with the portrait of her mother. She sacrificed herself to general cleaning and repairs of her loft, which proved to be both hard work and good fun for the whole four of friends.

It was a round loft on top of the tower with a square hole in the floor with the ladder attached to it to act like the stairs. Pigeons made their homes on the rafters under the irregular ceiling, and the orange light was seeping from a huge arch window, reaching from the floor to the highest parts of the wall. It wasn't closing entirely and lacked glass in a few places. An old, crushed bed stood near the wall. There was a crooked table and two chairs, but not even a wardrobe. The mess in the room was horrible.

"And… what did you say? It needs a _little_ cleaning?" Elladan stammered out finally, breaking the dead silence which appeared after ushering them to the room.

"Alright, maybe more than a little. But it's a beautiful room, can't you see?" Verién stood in the middle and turned around, tilting her head back.

"I can see an old loft," Elrohir said, coming closer to the window. "But the sight is… wonderful," his eyes widened as he opened the window. They were high above Imladris' roofs, and even above the tops of the trees. The whole valley could be seen, as well as the endless, golden sky, decorated with a beautiful sunset.

"No one has such a view from their window." Legolas whispered. The four of them sat on the floor and stared at the sunset for a long while; Elladan and Elrohir sat with their backs touching, in identical positions, and Verién laid on the floor, supporting her chin on her hands.

"Guys," she said, "this room or no room."

"Verién, please… why can't you just sleep in the room already prepared? There are so many…" Elrohir started.

"Your 'so many rooms' become 'no rooms', when a delegation arrives to uncle or something else happens. Those rooms are needed. And here no one is sleeping and no one needs this loft. It was abandoned for so long... I want to take care of this room," she sighed.

"I will help you with tidying," Legolas said. "Also, the window lock needs to be repaired, and you will need a door… I can make you a trap door in the floor."

"You see?" Verién smiled. "He will help me. He is a good friend, not like you."

"And who is saying that?" the twins exclaimed in unison, feigning outrage so well that Legolas laughed heartedly. His voice rang out clear and carefree, bringing a memory of a silvery current of a mountain stream; so that was how he sounded when laughing, his friends concluded with just a small hint of sadness.

And the work started. Verién tidied the whole room by herself; all broken furniture, not needed pieces of fittings, old or broken tools, boards and planks, pieces of metal, smaller window panes, baskets, buckets and boxes were placed near the walls, all the dust wiped off, the floor swept, all the garbage taken out, the window cleaned as well as the rafters covered with a huge amount of dirt and the marks of birds' stay.

Legolas helped her in mending the bed; Neremiel put on it some pillows and a quilt. Verién assessed it critically and smiled. When she went downstairs later to bring something to drink for them, she also brought an armful of heavy fabric, painted in tiny flowers. The fabric placed upon the bed on a nailed plank made a beautiful canopy.

Through several days the four friends and Neremiel were spending their afternoons on the loft. Elrohir found some paints, so they all happily attempted to paint the walls in whatever they wanted. Neremiel painted a swan with white wings spread on the sides above its head. Legolas reached with a brush to a jar with the blue dye and painted a river ended with a waterfall and the high trees around it. Verién painted huge, red flowers on a long stem. Elladan painted Elrohir, and Elrohir painted Elladan.

These last sparks of summer spent on repairing and mending restored some of Legolas' confidence. At least he found that he exceeded his friends in something; and it was simple household keeping. The twins both said they should be better prepared to normal life, without a burden of being their Father's sons; it came with a sting of shame that they knew much less than they should about the things of common people. How were they supposed to resolve matters and help as rulers, when they had little knowledge of life? In an unwritten pact of honesty of thoughts they brought that matter up in a conversation with Legolas and later with their Father; Legolas felt a huge wave of sympathy towards the twins, who seemed to understand something no Mirkwood royal would ever consider. Elrond felt pride.

That was the way in which the summer gently, sensually switched into fall.

/*/

A thunderstorm raged high on the night sky as a poorly clothed figure stood in front of Lord Elrond's study, waiting to be let in, shivering in the darkness with no candlelight on the corridor. The large door soon opened and the storm chose exactly that moment to roar again with the ear-splitting thunder and a white light of enormous intensity. The creature jumped in barely restrained fear and practically fled into the waiting, strong arms of his Master.

"Are you afraid of the storm, little leaf?" Elrond chuckled, closing the door and covering Legolas' back with the long, burgundy sleeves of his night robe when embracing him.

"N-no… of the lightning," Legolas mumbled, keeping his eyes shut. "It strikes suddenly and sets the trees on fire."

"Well, this cannot be helped. Sometimes disasters happen and it is only natural. When the river floods, no human nor Elf can steer it back into its bed until it slowly returns by itself. What remains for us is to deal with the remnants," Elrond gently towed his charge towards the fireplace. "I suspect we will have some work too. The wind will break many trees and probably the roads will need unblocking."

"We… we are not safe here?" Legolas asked in a strained whisper.

"Oh but we are," Elrond smiled. "Imladris is well protected. Trust me, there is nothing to fear." Elrond kissed the crown of golden locks of the Elf and sat in the armchair, patting his lap. Legolas eagerly nestled himself there, putting both his legs over the armrest and encircling Elrond's neck with his arms like a child would.

"This is the first time I have observed a change of seasons," Legolas confessed, puffing in the crook of Elrond's neck. "In Mirkwood all we had was growing cold and the non-existence of many species of birds. Suddenly the grasshoppers would stop chirping and the rare greenery on the pavement must have been swept away, too dry and dead to grow any more… After that it was only colder," he muttered, emphasizing the last word by cuddling closer to his lord in the rhythm of his speech, "…colder and colder and colder."

Elrond smiled at the pushy hugging and reached for the blanket lying on another armchair nearby.

"I know, little leaf. I know. Rest now." He sighed, covering them both with a fluffy cotton fabric. "Do you want me to read you a little?"

"What if I fall asleep, Master?" Legolas asked innocently, trying to suppress a yawn and jerking again at the sound of another thunder.

"Well, I suppose that's the purpose. You came because you were afraid of the storm and you knew you would get no sleep being left alone. Now I shall try to trick you into dreaming." Elrond smirked. "And concern yourself not about how you will get into bed."

"Please wake me up then, Master," Legolas muttered. "I will go myself."

"We shall see. Now, recline and listen." Elrond commanded and went back a few pages of the book he was currently reading. It didn't matter to Legolas what kind of book it was, whether it was a record of last year's wheat harvest or a philosophical tractate. As long as it was his Master's steady voice lulling him, it made no difference, for he felt safe.

In less than half an hour he was sound asleep, with no regard for the raging thunderstorm. Elrond fondly caressed the ivory temple and kissed the smooth brow. So perfect a beauty he was holding. In this short time with his friends Legolas' looks improved to the point that many heads turned in his direction as he walked. His hair grew longer and developed a unique, pale golden glow. His eyes were now devoid of the dull depth they had when Elrond first looked deep in them, and a merry flicker appeared, heralding a more swift healing progress. Indeed he gained some weight making good on his promise and now his body was no longer flatly deformed, but full and proportional, although still very slender. Due to proper diet and regular exercises in rich variety Legolas' shapely form caught many an eye.

Each time someone spoken of this young, appetizing Mirkwood boy Elrond felt a burning flame of very typical jealousy and possessiveness so characteristic to his every infatuation. He kept his feelings in rein, never allowing them to be known to Legolas or anyone else except Glorfindel.

And now here he was, holding his chosen Elf in a very father-like embrace, trying to fight himself not to ravish those soft lips, parted as Legolas slept, pale as his carnation, soft like flower petals. It would be betraying his trust and so Elrond desperately silenced his inner call. He could not withhold himself from kissing the top of his head again, however. I should put him into bed, Elrond thought, surveying the warm bundle on his lap. On the other hand…

"I am in no hurry," he whispered and kissed him once more.

A soft knock in the door forced Elrond back into the restrained behavior. His sons entered the chamber, shushing themselves at the sight of the sleeping Legolas. Both came closer and leaned to take a better look at his trusting face, his eyelids closed with sleep. (2) Elladan shared a smile with his Adar, reaching to delicately smooth the pale blond mane.

"We have come to say goodnight Ada, on our way we wanted to take Legolas upstairs," he said very quietly. "We were watching the storm from Verién's window. It is amazing," he breathed.

Elrohir seated himself cross-legged on the floor in front of Elrond's armchair and watched the two for a long time. Soon his brother joined him and they exchanged looks and a skyward twitch of eyebrows. Elrond was smiling slightly, observing his charge's features with a serene and calm expression they saw so rarely. And yet there was undoubtedly a dose of dark guilt and longing, very much like that first day of their return from Lórien.

"Ada…" Elrohir started hesitantly. "Do you plan to foster Legolas?" he asked. Elrond sighed, without looking at him.

"Maybe…" he said very slowly. "I don't yet know."

"He would make a good brother," Elladan whispered. "A younger brother. The one you teach things and take care of…"

"…the one you show best places and steal cookies from the kitchens with," Elrohir ended with a tolerant smile for his brother. "Yes, he would do a good companion. He has no one else in this world, right?"

Elrond was silent. Suddenly the guilt washing over him enforced its hold.

"No one," he said. Even for him it sounded like a terrifying verdict.

"Ada?" Elladan tried in turn. Elrond raised his eyes to him. "Why do you allow him to call you 'Master'?" the twin asked. The Lord sighed sadly.

"I didn't want to confuse him… he had barely accepted the idea of his freedom. I think that deep in his heart he still considers himself my property, even if his approach to me has changed. I am his Master, but the one who cares for his belongings," Elrond refused to look his sons in the eye. "I probably made a mistake by not ingraining the right thought in his head better, I should have made him believe he is free and I am no Master. Now it will be a difficult habit to fight."

"You did what you could," Elrohir ascertained his Father calmly. "If you feel you couldn't have explained it better, then you probably couldn't. We had a sample when we tried to tell him what he is given money for and what to do with it."

Elrond smiled, trying to imagine the scene. "I see," he muttered under his breath. "My little, stubborn, submissive elfling. You are so difficult to domesticate at times," he whispered the endearment into the tipped ear. If the twins were shocked at the way of addressing his friend, they didn't let it be known.

"Ada, but it must be helped… I mean the whole situation. It's just… I mean, one just wants to grab and hold him through it, right? It's so wrong, what has been done to him. To send one who can understand the speech of trees to cut them down… or to keep especially trained and maddened dogs to bite disobedient slaves to death… what in the name of the Valar is happening in Mirkwood, Ada?" Elrohir asked.

"How do you know these things? Has he told you about his past?" Elrond asked abruptly with a mixture of shock and fury written all over his face.

"We had spent a lot of time together. Situations issue, when he behaves… specifically," Elladan joined in. "But he has never told us the whole story. I think it is still too fresh a memory."

Elrond sighed. His lips were pursed into an angry, thin line, and he clenched his hands around the unresisting body in a protective hug. Grim determination overruled his thoughts as he schemed what could be done; firstly, he needed information.

"I would be glad if you coaxed him into talking," Elrond said quietly. "As much for his sake as for the other slaves'. The Golden Wood and Imladris have been tolerating Lathronios' misdeeds for far too long." Elrond swallowed thickly.

"Will do, Ada," the twins whispered.

"As for my little leaf," Elrond's brow straightened. "These memories… their mere existence is poisoning him from the inside even now, when he is surrounded by friendship and care. I heard him cry out just two nights ago. What he needs is to test your trust and confide the whole story, as terrible as it may be. Children, you must not fail him."

The twins just nodded; they knew it true, but the difficulty of this task was high. Legolas was still prone, his mental state fragile. And to push him too early would be disastrous.

"But now…" Elrond delicately gathered his precious cargo in his arms and rose from the armchair. Legolas whimpered silently, on the verge of waking, pouting his lips and subconsciously burrowing deeper in his Master's warmth. "Bed time, I think. You should catch some sleep also, my starlings. It's after midnight." He said and as his sons also rose, he leaned and kissed each one in the forehead. "Goodnight, my sons."

And he slowly walked out with a blankety bundle of trusting sleep in his arms to store it in a safe and soft bed to rest until morning.

/*/

The storm was an unstoppable force. Lightning after lightning the sky was set in a dramatic illumination. Verién kept watching the breathtaking spectacle and waiting for her family's return. A few candles placed on the rough floor in a small puddles of melted wax were slowly going out, so she replaced them with new ones and returned to her spot. Pigeons were cooing softly on the rafters, sharing their warmth.

Elladan and Elrohir were the first to come. They sat near the girl in a grim silence, trying to understand something from the mess of pictures kindling in their minds.

Another roar ripped the sky to pieces.

Almost soundlessly, brushing the floor with her long nightgown Arwen appeared in the trap opening in the floor and joined the three in front of the huge window. She sat close by and encircled her knees with her arms. Without the royal air around her and with her hair done in a simple braid she seemed suddenly more approachable and the uncharacteristic burden of worry made her features more human.

She cleared her throat quietly.

"Ada was carrying Legolas to bed," she remarked.

No one answered her; in the flash of another lightning they could see the far away trees bend with the force of the wind. They all feared what damage Bruinen would do this night, for the river was just as mad as the sky.

"Ada is doing nothing with the weather," Elladan said after a while, referring to the force of Vilya he was keeping. "Why is that?" he asked.

No answers came forth. Terrified pigeons were making the only sounds in the room.

"He calls him… 'mine'," Elrohir muttered. " 'My little leaf' it was."

The three siblings slowly turned their eyes on Verién. She was sitting with her head down, observing the changes of light on the wooden, old and blemished floor.

"I have nothing funny to say." She sighed. "This is quite clear to me."

"Clear?" Elrohir snorted. "Well, this actually is funny. For all we can see is a blur."

(1) laer – Sindarin name of summer. iavas – Sindarin for fall.

(2) I absolutely cannot cope with Tolkien's idea of Elves sleeping with opened eyes. I know I am skipping a major healing theme I could use and I'm going against the canon, but… (*Shielding with a big AU sign*)


	13. The wet wood's consolation

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

DISCLAIMER II: I used a fragment of lyrics to "King and Country", track 5 from the album "Freedom Fields" by Seth Lakeman. This guy is amazing.

WARNINGS: none, really. Troubling thoughts.

Feedback would cheer me up a lot…

Chapter 13: LEGOLAS' STORY – PART ONE: THE WET WOOD'S CONSOLATION

/*/

" '_Tis I my love who__'ll leave in June_

_For twenty four days, no more_

_Now mark that spot from whence I came_

'_Tis for King and Country I'll come back again._"

The last trembling note of the violin died in silence as the Elves were sitting on the familiar stairs, exhausted beyond imagination after the full day of labor to make the roads crossable. All the trees knocked down by the windstorm must have been secured and taken away from the paths to be selected into further use later; some made a good material for building, and some were suitable only for heating the chambers in many fireplaces. In that case the wood must have been chopped and transported to the palace, and from there into various other destinations.

Verién put the violin down. It was a long day. Even Glorfindel was helping in the woods to secure the passages and help rebuilding the guards' posts, changing horses often while traveling from one camp to the other, in the meantime reporting the damage to Elrond.

The twins were positively filthy and their mood was dampened. Unwilling to let thoughts overwhelm them, they committed themselves to work, and found totally unexpected help from Legolas' side. The Elf knew much about such hard labors, much more than they did, and he was of a great help even to the skilled carpenters and road-builders. Elladan and Elrohir just couldn't blame him for anything, when he was wading knee deep in the mud and helping to lift the oak logs from the sideways, then willingly grabbing a small axe and clearing the trunk from all side branches, preparing it to transport. The Elves had to only attach such a log to the horse sled and could move back to the valley.

Hardworking and unselfish blond Elf could not even know that he has evoked an unhealthy fascination in Lord Elrond. He did not even acknowledge the concept. Firstly in jokes, later a bit more seriously the twins dragged him into the talk about their Father to investigate whether the attraction is returned or not and if Legolas is even aware of it.

He was not. In sincere, overawed words he spoke of his Master who had saved his life, then helped him regain his health and had given him protection.

"He had never hit me," Legolas was talking with a slight blush of pure admiration. "He had been so good, given me a real bed to sleep in, allowed to eat three meals a day. I had to tell him about Mirkwood… and he did not turn away from me even then. He is compassionate, he is caring, he is considerate. He teaches me, for he doesn't want me to remain stupid. I cannot understand what I am being paid for though, but it doesn't matter; I will serve him to the end of my days, I will do anything, literally anything he orders," the Elf proudly ended and excused himself, for his help was needed on the other side of the road. The twins were at loss of words.

Even if Legolas loved Elrond, it was clearly the slave-master or even child-protector relation. With full disregard of his own person Legolas admired his Lord with endless affection and all he wanted to do was to please. He simply did not understand the nature of lust or the mechanism of sexual attraction. That arose new questions: has Legolas had sex before? Did he know how his body may react to the simple touch? Did he know what reaction could he provoke?

With his blind obedience and unlimited trust Legolas would probably agree wholeheartedly to any play Elrond could suggest, not only seeing nothing wrong in it, but also sacrificing his own normal reactions to any of his possible future lovers. Both twins doubted their Father would simply use Legolas as a pleasure slave, deceive him and talk into the assumption that what they are doing has nothing to do with any kind of abuse or even is in a good tone, as a preferred way of repaying for his Master's kindness. They strongly rejected this idea, they knew their Ada and he had a pure heart.

But then, if this was not just a carnal desire, was that love? If so, what about their Nanneth waiting for her husband in Valinor? How could Elrond just forget about her? If the feeling towards their friend is genuine, Elrond would want it returned. What then? Seduce the blond child, make him love his Master, then break his heart and sail oversea? Or take the boy with him and choose one of the two? Which one? This wasn't agreeing with the twins at all.

There was also the last matter, the thought that have pestered them from a long time now.

Elrond was so lonely. In his bitter, cold watch throughout the ages he had no one to entrust his heart to. He was all alone with thoughts, regrets and needs of his soul and body since he was left alone by Celebrian. They were not the most passionate couple, for apart of respect, friendship, tradition and political reasons they shared little physical attraction. But they were fond of each other in a precious way, so that they were not alone and created a loving, good family with their three children. In a way, they accepted the lack of passion and focused on many other solid things that constituted their marriage. But after the tragic incident befalling their mother, Celebrian grew detached not only to her husband, but even to her children.

What right did the twins have to take away that happy spark in their Father's eyes present when he looked at the blond Elf? Elrond was an adult. He knew what he was doing. Was doubting in him the reaction he would expect from his own sons?

And they would gladly see more of the calm smile he was wearing lately.

The riddle with Legolas' past remained unresolved and it was only adding to the twins' frustration. Somehow they felt these two things are connected; Legolas' past and Elrond's feelings. Without revealing one there was no possible progress in the other.

Elladan sighed and once again assessed the bootleg of his muddied shoe.

"Sing some more," he asked and Verién reached for the violin again.

"_Folding hills and a silver lane_

_A weeping maid, an evening in the rain_

_Roses ramble and the trees hand low_

_We sit and drink to all good friends we know._

'_Tis I my love who'll leave in June_

_For twenty four weeks no more_

_Now mark that spot from whence I came_

'_Tis for King and Country I'll come back again._

_The first season passed without news_

_Two weeks gone and still no Autumn tune_

_The leaves they weep for the loss of their spring_

_The dimming days they serve no better king._

'_Tis I my love who__ fought for you_

_For twenty four months no more_

_Now mark that spot from whence I came,_

'_Tis for King and Country I'll come back again._

_I'll come back to you, when I'm rich and brave_

_I'll come back to you…"_

The music composed itself greatly with the chilly, wet evening. Everyone were so tired that when Arwen came to collect them, softly saying that Adar is becoming agitated with their absence, they did not say a word and agreed to be led inside the safe confinement of the walls.

FADING OF THE YEAR

(_Firith_)

Probably the last sunny days were coming to an end and the four friends were forced to stay inside more. No one welcomed that, but as the turning of the year would not suffer any argument, they simply surrendered to the inevitable and started wearing warmer clothes. For the very last goodbye of the warm, colorful Fall they decided to go on a short trip in the mountains. Soldiers posts stationed there provided a good shelter on the many bigger talans, few of which had special roofs and even walls added. The furthest border of Imladris was well-guarded, and also well-equipped.

The moods came back to normal after the slight shock that Elrond's behavior issued, but as absolutely nothing was progressing, and the Lord of Imladris was not dwelling in despair, otherwise – he had become more pleased with life and was smiling more often, the twins and their sister stopped discussing and pursuing the matter long into the night and allowed the feelings to either evaporate or grow on their own, unchecked way. They trusted their Ada, after all.

And there was absolutely no blame they could put on the fair creature, who seemed to them all more like a younger brother than a previous slave brought from Mirkwood and barely saved from the Mandos' grasp. Legolas was a vital point in their life and they wished him stay so. The twins let the next orc hunt go; they decided to wait the Fading, Winter and Stirring (1) in Imladris rather than spend another half of the year away from home, and strangely, Verién also did not mention anything about departing. They all assumed she wants to wait through the worst just like the twins and the idea gladdened them secretly.

Now, they had little time. To say their goodbyes to the summer warmth they had to set off early tomorrow morning.

/*/

"My legs hurt," Verién said, stretching herself. Roachie neighed behind her in a funny manner, just as if she was laughing at her; Verién immediately stopped yawning and turned her questioning eyes to he horse, who passed her by quickly, probably realizing the girl may jump on her back in any time. The mare was already carrying the bedrolls and small packages with food and clothes, so she had enough of burdens.

"We are not walking that long. Stop whining," Elladan turned and reached a helpful hand to his cousin when they were climbing on a steep stone shelf.

"I did not sleep well, that's the cause," Verién complained drowsily. "And I'm saying this because I like whining. It helps, especially in the mornings. I feel better already," she smiled and Legolas had to admit she was little right. Just a small dose of self-pity was really helping to get out of the warm bed.

"I can carry you," Elladan said, stopping on the way. "Jump on my back."

"Seriously?" Verién's eyes widened.

"Seriously. I am a warrior, not a clumsy girl. Come on." Elladan leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, and she jumped on his back. "Hold on, little sister," Elladan said clenching hands on her thighs and holding her in place. "Better?" he asked.

"Much better," she said and kissed him in the cheek. "I love you, dear brother."

"Of course you love me," he laughed. "Especially when I'm carrying you on my back."

"Were you thinking about what places are we going to show Legolas? There are a few worth seen, especially since he hasn't been deep in the mountains at all. What are we going to show him?" she asked and Elrohir suddenly laughed.

"Maybe that beautiful clearing near the stream, do you still remember it, Verién? When we were small elflings we were playing there under care of Glorfindel. One day you got lost. We were frightened and looked for you everywhere," he laughed.

"While I fell sound asleep in an old tree trunk, I remember. Mum was mad at me," she said with a smile. "Yes… and it's close to the guard posts also, so we're good in case of rain."

"I really hope there will be no rain," Elladan muttered. "We should have made this trip much sooner. Now it's a bit too chilly as for my liking."

"Then turn back," his brother smirked.

"In case of cold I shall just steal your blanket."

"And find yourself face down in the mud, thrown down from the _talan_."

They walked long. When Elladan was already tired of carrying his sister, but was not willing to admit it, Elrohir found a secret passage under the huge roots of a tree and they stepped into the fascinating clearing. It was perfectly round, mainly in beige and brown hues of dry grass, surrounded by high trees in intense colors of brown and black, partially deprived of the foliage of leaves. A small stream was flowing down the stone shelves and cutting through the clearing in a nice semicircle, creating a shape of a sickle. Forever green ivy curtains were falling down from the old branches and spiraling down the tree trunks.

Above their heads the sky was a round stain of grey on a dark green backcloth of spruces and fir wood. It was like being inside of a huge cauldron.

"It is beautiful here," Legolas sighed.

"Yeah... We liked to come here. It is far away from the Last Homely House, but Elladan and Elrohir were running in the woods often. Mum would sometimes let me ride with Arwen here, under Glorfindel's care. And it always ended like this: Glorfindel was sitting with Arwen and the rangers near the fire, Arwen bored as hell, while Elladan, Elrohir and me were playing here." Verién explained.

"But when you got lost your mum forbade you riding in the mountains." Elrohir said, taking Roachie's reins and directing her to the left, where a small opening in the solid wall of the trees was hidden.

"Well… yeah, she had that nice little habit of forbidding." Verién snorted.

"That's true, my poor little sister," Elladan embraced Verién by one arm. "You were sitting with books all day long and doing nothing. It's a miracle that you did not put on weight because of lack of running," he laughed and earned an elbow in the ribs.

/*/

They arrived to their destination in no time. Legolas was thrilled to see a small complex of talans high in the evergreen foliage, connected with thick lines, rope ladders and various tiny bridges. Some Elves in typical, greenish outfits were moving around. The group had been spotted much earlier, but only now they were briefly greeted and directed to the highest talan deep inside the tiny urban structure. Roachie joined the horses of the guards, nibbling lazily on the grass and seeking shelter among the trees.

The day quickly waned, being replaced with the grey twilight. The road on foot took them a whole day and naturally the four friends were feeling tired, but in the good way, indicating solid effort or well done work. The inside of their talan was totally unfurnished and fire-deprived, but still warm, lit by few oil lamps seated securely on the floor in a hand reach. The twins, Legolas and Verién put their bedrolls in a small circle on the floor and stretched out. Warm, yellow light cast shadows on the wooden walls and created a nice atmosphere of safety. Legolas felt wonderful, listening to his friends' conversation and merry jokes, while the three was sipping on their mugs full of brownish, potent alcohol. It was warming them and lighting their moods. Under gentle persuasion Legolas tried to sip at the tipple also. He disliked it a lot, but the liquid was making him warmer, so he forced himself to drink half of the cup. Suddenly he found he is hot and dizzy, and he wants to laugh and sing and listen to the music, and then just sleep for ages, imagining that the bedroll was his bed in the safe palace.

The twins whined that they cannot sing some drunkard songs to the accompaniment of the violin, what would be quite improper at the border, but Verién agreed to play something not too loudly instead. To make up for the loss of fun, they started telling jokes and the funniest stories of their life. Verién had her eyes teary from laughter, just like Legolas, who found the effect of the drink unbearably pleasant. He tried as he might not to succumb to the feeling to be able to watch his actions and tongue, but could not and found himself telling and doing things much more at ease.

"Now, Elrohir, your turn," Legolas asked, fighting the fit of giggles. "The most embarrassing story of your childhood."

"Oh, I have one… listen. 'El, it was when we were so small and in the middle of that silly I-just-hate-my-moron-brother argument…"

"Oh, that was a stupid time. We didn't like each other at all, like idiots," Elladan laughed and reached over his head to pat his brother on the forehead, as they were lying opposite each other flat on their backs.

"I remember a delegation of Dwarves came to the palace and we all were really excited. We couldn't focus on our lessons. You ran away from one just to walk around these Dwarves and talk to them, and I was so envious that it was not my idea, you get it." Elrohir tried to maintain a straight face. "And you got a piece of real sausage from one of them. Normally Elves do not eat sausage, and you got a real piece, so everyone came closer to see."

"And it had such a strong scent of chopped meat, that it lingered on my hands and clothes until evening," Elladan laughed.

"Exactly! Exactly, we were standing in a group of boys chuckling at this stink of the sausage and I said you will be stinking now too as you ate it, and everyone laughed, and you went whole red, and as I watched you it was so funny that I couldn't stop laughing… and, as you remember, I actually farted from the strain," Elrohir choked out between a fit of uncontrolled giggles, and the rest of the sentence was drowned in a thunder of laughter. "It was the most embarrassing moment of my life!" he sighed, wiping away the hot tears of joy. The four friends couldn't calm down for a long while, clasping hands on their shaken bellies aching pleasantly from that sound, merry fit. Legolas could swear he had never been laughing so hard in his whole life.

"Good one, he wins the turn!" Verién admitted finally, composing herself a little. "Remind me to give you that whiskey when we are at home."

"Hehe… Alright, I'll do it. Do we have something good to eat?" Elrohir said supporting himself on the elbows. "I grew hungry with all this tale-telling."

"No worries, you will never be hungry in my company," Verién said. "I've got some bread here, few apples, cheese, charqui, some snacks and a solid piece of Belithravien's cake… here you go. Let's scoff! And give me some," she said, stretching her hand for the cup.

After the dinner they all lay in their bedrolls again, staring at the ceiling and miraculously doing nothing.

"Hey, why had you not finished the cake?" Elladan asked, glancing at Legolas.

"I cannot… I'm full…" Legolas said, grimacing.

"Come on," the three said in unison.

"My stomach is smaller than yours!"

"We will have to systematically work on stretching him," Elrohir said. "Seriously, Legolas. You are still too thin."

"I'm telling you I have never been so fat," Legolas answered. "I have eaten too much… I feel so strange," he confessed with a blissful sigh indicating that he liked that 'strange' state he was in.

"You are just tipsy," Elrohir told him, patting his arm approvingly.

"I would say drunk. You have never drank whiskey before, huh?" Elladan asked.

"No, I have never drank something like this at all," Legolas sighed. "It tastes horrible… but it is… good."

Verién snorted at this, and Legolas laughed carefree also. He was so happy in that moment that he simply wanted to laugh all night long. He was sure he has found or developed new muscles on his face, for his cheeks ached already.

To calm himself a little, he gazed through a small opening in the ceiling, provided instead of a window. It was left open, but possible to close in the case of rain. He looked up, searching for the pieces of the starry sky between the branches.

"Too bad we cannot see the stars," he said extending a hand vertically and his friends followed his sight.

"Blessed be doings of Elentari," Verién sighed. "Oh, we weren't looking at the maps of the sky yet… when we return, I'm gonna teach you a few names of constellations."

"I know a few," Legolas muttered.

"How come?" Elrohir asked before he thought better. A very sad smile appeared on the Elf's face.

"Moreth showed me," he said.

A thick silence engulfed them suddenly and only a hum of wet spruces nearby could be heard.

"You miss him, right?" Elrohir whispered.

"Yes," sighed Legolas. "Very much. I haven't even thanked him for saving my life."

"You will," Verién said. "You have not seen him the last time."

Legolas shook his head and sniffed loudly.

"How? He stayed in there. Why the fate had decided it was me who would be granted with a grace to live in this bright place," Legolas sighed. "Moreth should be here instead of me, sleeping in my bed, eating all this wonderful things, walking around without chains. It is unfair," he whispered.

"Legolas, every Elf deserves these simple things Mirkwood denied you," Elladan said. All of you should be free. And Moreth should not be here _instead_ of you, but _with_ you. Free and independent. As every son of Mirkwood. Every one."

Somewhere above them a bird fled off the safe branch. The sound of wings and feathers flapping was unnaturally loud. The breath of night grew unfriendly.

"No," Legolas said.

Elladan, Elrohir and Verién turned to him in a stupefied bewilderment. His pale brow was furrowed and one could say that he is in some kind of distress – but whether it was hurt or irritation they could not say.

"W-what do you mean by 'no'?"

"Only this is not true. We do _not_ deserve this." The Elf answered with whole calmness he possessed, clearly hinted with saddened self-loathing. Three of his friends glanced from him to each other and back, understanding nothing of it.

"Well… explain this to us," Verién said, having a strange feeling that they have just touched the topic which may be a key to grasp Legolas' misunderstanding of the surrounding world.

"What is there to explain? Elf slaves are not worthy ones. We do not deserve to live like normal people, we have to work and serve our betters. As such, we have no right to place ourselves in the community. We are… below. That's how the world is arranged."

"Oh but Legolas!" Elrohir all but sat up in a flash of stunned disbelief. "But this is a total absurd! How come…"

"It's not an absurd! It's justice!" Legolas sat up also and his confused face went red in shame or anger, probably both. Whiskey made his tongue loosen itself and some real emotions resurface.

"Legolas, there should not be any slaves at all! People do not divide on the royalty and slaves, it simply is… wrong!" Elrohir exclaimed.

"No no no, that's not true. You don't understand." Legolas gestured with both his hands, as if trying to stop Elrohir's words from getting to his ears. He took a deep breath and trying to calm himself settled for explaining.

"We are enslaved because we are worse than others," he started slowly to his friend's dismay. "Ones are better Elves, chosen for higher things, and they are royalty. Others are normal, and they work and live in Mirkwood as craftsmen or farmers. And we are the worst kind of people, we are slaves because we have not the right to live normally among others. We are simply tainted," Legolas said with a patient expression of a father showing to his son how does corn grow. Elrohir went mute and his mouth fell agape.

"But what are you saying!" Elladan joined in. "There is no such a division based on people's _worthiness_! It is true that there are richer and poorer classes, there is royalty and gentry and then farmers and so on. But it doesn't mean that a farmer is of a worse kind than a king! The fact that some people are ruling the country does not make them better. They do it because other people wanted them to rule! Ada rules this valley because other Elves want it!" He added. "Slavery should never take place, it is wrong! What Lathronios is doing is monstrous, unnatural and undignified. You are the same as me, Legolas, the same as my brother or Verién. You have the same value as my Father."

"No!" Legolas argued, dismayed. "I cannot be! What you say does not make sense! Why would we be slaves, if we were not worse?"

At first Legolas thought he had proved his point and his friends just do not know what to say. With a confident smile he took in their sad and sorry expressions and instantly he felt that something is amiss. Looking from one to the other he searched for the answer.

"Why?" he repeated.

Elladan wanted to say something, but abandoned the idea.

"What's wrong? Tell me, w-why are we slaves, if not… if we are not… Why?"

The air seemed to thicken. Legolas reached to the collar of his tunic, unbuttoning it, for he abruptly felt like suffocating when awaiting their answer.

"There should not be such a thing as slavery." Verién started, taking a deep breath. "It is wrong. It is evilness. And if something like this happens, it is because Lathronios is a mean, wicked animal, not a creature worthy to call it an Elf. I don't know why he wanted to have slaves in his country. Maybe he enjoys the suffering of others, if so, he is… sick. But you are not worse. He told you so to prevent your rebellion against him."

Legolas was silent a long moment, looking at the three with disbelief. He could not understand. Through so many years he was sure he is of a worse kind and he had no idea of self worth. And now he was told that it was not true, that he had a right to live like other Elves, that he is not worse, he is even equal to Lord Elrond! That was not what he was told and taught from the very beginning.

"Take a look around, Legolas. In Imladris there are no slaves. How do you think, why?" Elladan asked gently.

"Because only the worthy Elves are living here," Legolas said immediately. "And I was so surprised when you thought about me in the same way. I am unworthy," he explained.

"You are not!" Verién insisted. "And if so, what have you done in your life to be unworthy? What crime have you committed? No, wait; what have all of you done wrong to become slaves?"

Legolas dropped his eyes, trying to give an expected answer. He couldn't calm his thoughts.

"A slave is a slave when he is born one, from parents of such a status. Or when the child is a bastard. Or very poor… some Elves had sold their children into slavery, I know… Others were caught somewhere outside the borders. Of these I know not. But we all are just… tainted… this is because we lack something, something important… we are paying for the sins of our past. We all had to do something really terrible in our previous lives. And there are those… who were taken, used… slaves in the dungeons… the whores. They… we… have no right to live among others."

Elrohir was just about starting yelling in his helpless despair, but Elladan cut him off brutally and called to Legolas in pure shock.

"Hold on! 'WE!' "

Elrohir stopped struggling out of his brother's grasp and sat down heavily on the floor. Verién shook her head sadly, not looking at the twins.

" 'We'…? You have been…?"

"Yes, I am also dirty," Legolas said with an empty voice, bringing his knees to his chest and encircling his legs by hands. "I had been taken and so tainted by a human merchant."

Dead silence occurred. No one moved for a good while. No one knew what to do or what to say.

"I realize you don't want to talk to me now," Legolas said in a strange voice, "so I shall just take… a walk… alright? I don't want to be of any discomfort to…"

He was cut off by Verién, who caught him and hugged him wordlessly. The lock of her arms was so strong that Legolas thought his ribs are going to break; but then both the twins crept closer and enclosed them in an embrace as well. They had sorrow written all over their faces. Their touch emanated with genuine sorry. It was all real.

"We do want to speak to you," Verién said. "Even more so, for you are our friend, and you have been mistreated. We want to care for you and protect you. Can you not see," she sniffed, "all their doings are wrong! They hurt you! They make you believe you are worse! They force you into work, they torture you physically and mentally, they threaten lives and well-being of your beloved and families. They kill you." She swallowed thickly. "Or they use you in a way that would bring you death in fading."

"You have been born without any guilt," Elladan choked out. "You are a rightful son of your people. Elves kidnapped and enslaved are rightful sons and daughters of their realms. Deep down inside, we all have the same worth, even if our status in society may differ. There are Kings who are monsters, and there are slaves who are the bravest and purest of all Elves I know." The twin swallowed thickly. "You did not ask to be born. You were given this life from the Valar as an eternal fief. The rape did not taint you. You are pure and innocent, I know no other Elf like you, Legolas," he said.

"In Elven realms from the Sea to the borders of Gondor there is no slavery. Not because only worthy live there. Among Elves, just like among people, there happen to be evildoers. There is no slavery because it is wrong. It is against the intent of Eru. It is fault almost as great as breeding orcs by Melkor in the ancient time! This is wrong! And you, all of you, you have done nothing to deserve this fate! Be this life your first or be you reborn, you have done nothing which could possibly sentence you to slavery. This is all the plot of Lathronios. All these are his lies and his foul deed." Elrohir was speaking, holding Legolas' head by both his hands and pressing their foreheads together.

Legolas was listening, willing to believe his friends are saying only true, but unable to accept it. He searched deeply in his mind for something else, some other crime which could doom him and seal his fate, some uncontested proof that could never be broken by these new, appealing vision; but he found none. He shyly looked at Verién, at the twins. A first sign of understanding appeared in his eyes.

"But… in kingdoms of Men, slavery happens often. Does that mean…?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes, it happens. As we told you, there are good and bad kings, good and bad farmers, good and bad Men. In each of us there are good and bad decisions. Listen, I know what is confusing you so; you can't understand why have we chosen to be the 'good' ones instead of taking profit from misdoings. You can't see why we don't want it and you sense a trap even now. It is a question of trust. You must decide in your own heart whether to trust us to be good or not. We want to be good and act righteously without being given anything back just because we want it so, we see it as a right thing to do, we were raised this way… I can't explain or convince you with words, I know… it's just we really are… we really try to be good… just because." Verién whispered. The twins nodded, looking at her.

Legolas felt tears in his eyes. Master Elrond told him the same thing, 'just because', on the balcony when he told him about the rape. The Elf swallowed again, fighting against the bile in his throat.

"We are all the children of Ilúvatar, Elves, Men, Dwarves, other races. We all have a right to be here. He made us equal. You are like us. You are free. You can do with your life what you feel right and good to do. You have the right to choose." Verién said convincingly. Her eyes were shining with only sincerity.

"Believe this," Elrohir said. "Just trust with your heart. What else can we say to make you believe us? Open your eyes. You have never been treated like a slave in Imladris, because we all believe you to be a free, rightful Elf, equal to us! And as such, you deserve respect, help, friendship, love and care." The twin rested both his palms on Legolas' shoulders and glanced deep in his eyes. "Answer me now: have you met with anything beside that in Rivendell? Have you?"

Legolas felt the last wall of his defense shatter and collapse under the intensity of Elrohir's gaze and two big tears slipped unchecked from the corners of blue eyes.

"No, no, I haven't," Legolas moaned. "I believe you. I believe…"

He was once again enveloped in a crushing hug and there, safely locked, he wept until the first silvery droplets of upcoming downpour wetted their faces, hair and clothes. Weeping out the cheeks and noses, the four friends curled back into their bedrolls, having shut the gap in the ceiling. Shielded from the downpour, they could nest close together, cuddling for warmth and consolation. Firstly shy, then all the more brutally the rain started to knock in the wooden walls of the tiny room.

"If so…" Legolas started very quietly. "If we are the same and this is wrong… why have you let Lathronios do it? Why haven't the other Elf Lords stopped him?"

A silence and bowed heads answered Legolas. The twins looked suddenly crestfallen, and Verién angry.

"To withstand Lathronios would be to start a war," she said through the clenched teeth. "He cannot bear any criticism. Uncle Elrond had been writing letters to him, sending envoys; the Lords of a Golden Woods of Lothlorien negotiated, pleaded and called to his sense of morality as well. It had a result in only intensified suffering of the slaves in Mirkwood," Verién uttered.

"We cannot start a war. It would be to involve Lothlorien as well, because I cannot imagine Lord Celeborn or Lady Galadriel passively looking. And war is a death of thousands. Mirkwood is a well supplied fortress; it would take months of besiege to take it. And the chances are thin. Besides… you can imagine what Lathronios would do to the slaves before we even entered the stronghold."

"Slaughter them," Legolas said. His stare was empty, and he looked suddenly so very tired. He buried his face in his bedroll.

"So there is not even a chance to see Moreth ever again."

"If they rebelled, it would be a chance," Elladan said.

"Rebelled?" Legolas repeated in a very empty voice. "And how many of them against the whole Lathronios' army? How would they fight without weapons? How, without strength they are so systematically robbed of? How, when… they do not know they are …they are deceived," Legolas hid his face in his hands not to see his friends. He pressed his knees to his chest, curling in his bed and lying completely still. Verién crept closer and hugged him fiercely, then started rocking back and forth, very much like Elrond did some time ago. Legolas clutched her arms, inviting the comforting gesture.

"Listen, there is always a possibility of a miracle to occur. Uncle Elrond is worried, this matter is troubling him. I am sure he will find a way sooner or later. Or the other Elf Lords will. There must be a solution. Do not be sad. It will be alright." Verién spoke delicately, soothing Legolas.

"I had felt better without the knowledge you granted me," Legolas whispered. "I simply felt better..."

They did not find the words for that.

One thought struck Verién's mind. There will simply be no better opportunity to dig the whole story out of Legolas' troubled, haunted mind.

"Legolas," Verién asked. "Maybe I should not ask you about it," she stopped uncertainly. Legolas turned to her. "But could you tell us about Mirkwood? How all that happened?"

Legolas was quiet for a while, avoiding their eyes. He considered it long.

_I may refuse, but what__'s the point?_ he thought. _One day I will have to tell the whole story. And once more I will cry and tremble. Maybe it is better to do it today, to finally end one chapter in my life? Besides… they are my friends…_

"Yes," he said. "I think you should know the story. I think you want to know, and… maybe it will be simply better," he smiled.

"We are listening," Elrohir whispered. Elladan reached to him another mug with brownish, bitter whiskey. Legolas did not hesitate; he accepted, dried it and started a long awaited story.

(1) Elvish "short seasons of the year" in English.


	14. Hatred

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: Hard slash themes, including *RAPE SCENE!* Please heed the warning! Leave or read at your discretion. You have been warned.

In these chapters feedback is very important to me. Please, even if you read the story usually and just do not review because you don't want to involve in painstaking reviewing these long chapters PLEASE this time just write a few words about THIS chapter. I want to hear your opinions about this part.

Chapter 14: LEGOLAS' STORY – PART TWO: HATRED

/*/

Moreth was sitting near the small and dirty dispatch made from blankets and hay, placed near the wall in the quiet corner of the slaves' quarters in Mirkwood Fortress. His beloved was lying there, very pale and burning with fever, moaning silently from time to time. Moreth wetted the cloth on her forehead again, but there was nothing more he could do. She has been ill from two days and her state was only worsening. Without medicines and care only death awaited her, especially if they moved her to the lower cellar to separate the sick from the others.

Moreth refused to acknowledge that possibility. This tiny, crumpled figure on the floor was his whole world. Her death would positively mean his own passing. And yet: would not death be gentler than this living hell? Moreth's fists clenched and he desperately fought to conceal a pained, horrified scream.

The slave cellar was placed underground. The hall was long and its far away end was always hidden in darkness, no matter the time of day. The walls were rarely adorned with smoky torches, filling the air with humid stink of burning rags. The breath almost stuck to their lungs each time they forced themselves to inhale. The restless crowd of people sleeping, waiting, walking in circles, praying or slurring was only intensifying the feeling. Moreth wished he could reach to the small granted window under the ceiling and catch some fresh air. More likely, bring some to his love, if that was possible.

The guards were sleeping. The small room attached to the hall was opened and the floggers always ready, but the two muscled guards slept soundly, concluding that there is no need to watch over broken spirits having no other place to go. An empty bottle of sloppy wine emptied earlier that day with a sour face, lay under the older guard's bed.

A shadow sneaked near the soldiers' office and entered the hall.

It passed the sleeping figures, avoided empty, glass eyes of his fellow slaves and their asking faces, never stopping on its way. It quickly approached Moreth where he was kneeling near the wall and hid in the crowd, becoming invisible again. Moreth recognized his friend.

"Legolas, where were you? Are you out of your mind?" he asked.

"Take it," Legolas muttered, putting a small pack on his lap. "Give Silcan this for the fever, and later this – for the illness," he said, giving him two jars filled with some liquids. "And here is the food for you and your mother. You need to be strong," he added, putting another bundle aside and laying a hand on the girl's forehead.

"You… you stole it?" Moreth asked, terrified.

"No. I borrowed." Legolas mocked, looking his friend in the eye, as if borrowing would be even possible.

"You mad Elf! Do you not know what they would do to you for this? Legolas!" Moreth exclaimed in a hushed, choked voice. If somebody noticed the theft, they would all be lost, not only Legolas.

"Nobody saw me. Just give it to her. That way she will stay with you," Legolas whispered urgently. "They cannot possibly know what they keep in the medicine store, it's incredible mess in there."

"You don't know what are you saying. And this is folly." Moreth shook his head slowly. Both his hands with healing concoctions were trembling visibly, clenched on the glass phials desperately.

"Give it to her," Legolas commanded. After just a second of hesitation Moreth obeyed; even if his eyes were darting to the sides in unhidden fear, his hands were precise as he measured the amount of each drug for his beloved girl.

"I have a bad feeling about this, I'm telling you," Moreth hissed.

"What would you have me do, watch you both suffer? Listen, they cannot threat or blackmail me. I have no family, thus I'm not afraid of their lives and well being like you. I am not afraid of death. They will not break me, Moreth. Do not worry about me, just focus on her." He pointed the girl.

Moreth did not look at him. They sat in a tense silence for a few hours, watching over the feverish maiden and saying nothing, anticipating the change in her state. The lights had gone out and the night drew in steadily, bringing sudden cold and chill wracking them to the bone.

Finally, closer to the dawn, Silcan awoke and smiled wearily at them. Her eyes were at least clearer. In her fatigue she fell asleep almost immediately after drinking a little water; but this short awakening restored Moreth's heart.

"You are my best friend, you know?" Moreth whispered to his friend, squeezed his forearm in a thankful gesture.

"Of course I am," Legolas answered with a little, sad smile.

The rest of the night they spent cuddling close to each other; that was the best way to keep warmth. The Spring was lazy this year. Cellars like this one: stinky, cold and wet, were the most unbearable in the whole fortress.

Moreth's sleep was unsteady. He was getting up and checking on Silcan many times. The fever faded considerably, and she stopped shaking; maybe there was still hope for her.

The next day Silcan opened her eyes for a few moments, before drifting into another reverie again. She said few words only, thanking them both for help, before incoherence claimed her. But Moreth was smiling; sight of her speaking was everything to him. Now he was sure she had a chance to survive. He embraced Legolas tightly, relieved beyond measure.

"You saved her life," he whispered. "You saved her life, my friend."

Legolas simply returned the embrace. It was much too early to diminish Moreth's happiness with dark thoughts of worry.

/*/

As always at five in the morning the guards led the slaves up from their wet and dirty quarters to the higher levels of the fortress. There they were divided into various destinations and summoned to work until late evening hours. Woken before dawn and exploited through the whole day these Elves were under a big strain and when returning back to the hall they were really exhausted.

Legolas and Moreth had been working in many places before. Currently both Elves were working at the upstairs levels, mostly tidying the rooms, tending to the general organization of the royal places of living, cleaning the floors and serving meals to the Mirkwood royalty and their guests. It wasn't the worst fate, so they did not dare to complain even for a moment. Occasional blows, debasement and curses were normal and could be easily endured through most of the time. Only sometimes Legolas ended down in the dungeons for a punishment arranged by an annoyed councilor. Moreth had never been treated thus; having Legolas close had this advantage the two friends were always bitterly joking about. The blond Elf was simply the favorite prey to send to the dungeon for a whipping to blow off some steam.

That day was not different from others, having the same dull and tiring pattern. The arrival of the Merchant the previous day messed the usual scheme slightly, but apart of more commotion and twelve special rooms to prepare nothing abnormal happened. The thankful sigh of peace was almost palpable in the servants' attitude, for the Merchant, the main slave trader of Mirkwood, was a malicious creature. Now the slaves were bustling about breakfasts, bathes and bedsheets, so that all was ready for the waking of the guests. Legolas' heart clenched painfully when he was taking a new set of bedsheets for the main merchant room; serving this Man was making him shudder. It was him who hunted and brought Elves and Men into slavery in the fortress. Of course there had to be a reason, of course they deserved that fate. But to tend to their own kidnapper was worse than physical torture.

'The merchandise', as Petrel the trader laughed with the King himself, was a sight to behold this time. The long lines of shackled Elves and Men: adults, children, men and women of all nationalities was still standing on the courtyard, waiting for the King's scrutiny. They were given no shelter nor place to rest. They slept a little during the night, cuddling to each other for warmth on the ground stones of the pavement, but now were roughly waken by the guards. Many children could not stand up. There were several dead bodies on the pavement. More would surely die before the King shall end the morning bath and indulgingly choose two hundred of new slaves out of those presented to him.

From all men coming and going into the fortress, Petrel the Merchant was hated the most among slaves in Mirkwood. He was immune though: the best guards never left his side and he recently employed a group of four skilled bodyguards, usually walking around him like faithful, bloodthirsty dogs around their master. Petrel was too important to be lost; the King used to make good business with him every year. More slaves to work were always needed. Building the walls around the Mirkwood fortress was really hard, many of the slaves were simply dying from exhaustion. Dark whispers spreading about the lowest level of the dungeons must have been true also – since Lathronios himself liked to pick up young and beautiful women and slender boys to serve there as pleasure slaves. It was not a long death, there in the brothel; when the King and the royals got bored with someone, death was coming quickly. But it was a kind of death terrifying even for the bravest.

Legolas turned his head away from the window. He preferred not to imagine how hard it must have been to get used to Mirkwood. He had never had such a problem, he was born here. Born to be a slave. How dreadful his sins must have been if he was not given even a few years of freedom? Sighing heavily, Legolas went down the corridor, carrying a huge stash of dirty clothes and linens to the laundry. That was when the door on the left creaked open; one of the newcomers stood there, clothed in a bathrobe, staring on the servant Elf.

"You, come here" the man called and as soon as Legolas approached he grabbed a fistful of his blond locks to pull him down on his knees. Legolas yelped; the heap of fabric fell scattered on the floor.

"See, there is your place, low beneath your betters," the man laughed. His hand left Legolas' hair and trailed a line of his jaw. "What fascinating creatures you are. Too bad I have not the luxury of a personal slave in my homeland… That's why I like so much to come here with Petrel."

Legolas was stiffen with fear, for such talks always ended in a disaster; he dared not to raise his eyes nor move. When the man sat on his heels in front of the kneeling slave, Legolas' heart jumped; what did he want?

"You are lovely, blondie," the man said and raised his hand again; this time he did not deliver a blow, though, only stroked down the length of Legolas' matted hair lovingly. "Tell me," he started conversationally, "where do you sleep?"

Legolas opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound could come forth.

"Answer me. It was a question."

"In… the cellars," Legolas said.

"Oh, must be cold? Yes? No? Say something." the man kept asking, and Legolas nodded, confused and terrified by this strange behavior. "And when have you last eaten?"

"Yesterday," the Elf whispered. He had given his portion to Moreth's mother when his friend wasn't looking.

"Oh, my… and what was that? Something tasty?" the man asked again, sweetening his tone to the point Legolas was sure it was a trap. Still, he had to give an answer.

"Bread," he closed his eyes. "And a soup."

The man shook his head and smiled. He slowly brushed Legolas' hair out of the way and bared his neck; then he did the most unexpected thing, for he reached out and enveloped the Elf in a bone-crashing hug. Legolas could not struggle free, being an underfed, smaller person. The man laughed hard at these tries as they only served his purpose; Legolas was pressed to his chest fiercely with both his hands trapped and in his fight he quickly met a piece of hardening flesh between the Man's legs. Legolas gasped in fright and froze, unable to think.

"Aha, gotcha," the man laughed again. "Do not worry, though beautiful you are, I shall not take advantage of you now. I know you would be punished for being so lazy about your chores to stop by for a small make out." The man nuzzled the crook of Legolas' neck. Suddenly he sighed.

"But then… let's pretend for a moment that you may stop by." The man said, his tone going dreamy. "Wouldn't you want to take a bath? Clean yourself in warm water with a real soap? Yes… that would be nice. And then, you could jump into a real bed, soft with all those blankets and duvets, shielding you from cold. You do feel cold, don't you?... You would be given a meal also. I would give you some food, so that you could sate the never-ending hunger you must endure. And… wouldn't the price for it be just… small?" he glanced at the trembling figure in his arms. "I would be gentle. I would take the time. If you decide to come to me… you may spare yourself many hurts. Just remember this, when the time comes. This night Petrel will have some fun… why wouldn't his workmates also? And trust me, you would prefer me over him."

The man let Legolas go, and the Elf immediately crawled back, unable to stand on his own, but trying to put some distance between them. As the man talked, all images he was creating came alive to Legolas' imagination and he felt his eyes water at such pictures. He thought he would do anything for an evening like this, but what the man was suggesting was too disgusting to consider. In his fright Legolas did not think much about the hidden warning.

"Bring me some tea. I shall forego breakfast this morning." The man said, standing up. "Don't look at me like that, little pet. You would really enjoy an evening with me." He smiled. "Go now, or else I will hug you again."

Legolas dashed to collect the scattered clothes and bedsheets, grabbed the bundle and sprinted down the corridor, stumbling and never looking back. The man was laughing sweetly behind him.

/*/

Lathronios assessed the long lines of slaves with a bored and unpleasant expression.

"Well, I cannot pay you that much. They are barely standing, what use will I have of them?" he asked the main Merchant, pointing one Elf by his finger. He was swaying on his feet, dried blood sticking to his eyelashes, so that he could not see a lot.

"Do not exaggerate. Look at this one. So young, so pretty. And still a virgin," Petrel answered, grabbing a young girl by her elbow and pulling close to Lathronios. She almost fainted from sudden panic, huge red stains immediately appearing on her neck and face. Lathronios rolled his eyes.

"I don't like virgins. Too much crying and screams." he responded dryly.

"I can deprive her of that quickly, if you want." Both men laughed in a cruel manner, observing the girl whimper and struggle against the hold at her forearm.

"Half of your price at the most. I won't pay more," said the Mirkwood King, walking further along the line and assessing his future workers. "You must try harder the next time and bring me more suitable, stronger workers. Don't make me believe you have lost your assessment." He smirked. "Maybe you shall get something extra if you find me a really beautiful dam. Fair haired, preferably. Oh, and one of my counselors wanted me to find him someone new… he got bored with the last one."

"A boy in that case? As usual?"

"As usual… oh, that one." The King said, touching the arm of a slender, young child with his hair black like a raven wing. The human boy could be twelve at the most. He looked at the richly dressed King with his huge eyes, understanding not what shall await him, but his mother, standing behind, started screaming and protesting with an unstoppable cry. She yelled curses and pleas in turn, trying to reach for her child, but succeeded not; under the precise hit of a gloved hand she fell silent, losing her consciousness and sliding down to the cold stones of the pavement.

"Hysteria can be cured," Petrel commented. "My King, let's make a deal. You give half of the price, accommodatingfor me and my assistants for the night, the dinner and someone to warm our beds. We shall choose." He said.

Lathronios shrugged; he knew that it would be hard to bargain with the merchant further, and his presence was not very drudging, so he agreed.

"I agree. That two hundred I chose and the special two; one boy and the woman you promised," he said. "Take them away! Take care of their preparing" he said to the coming servants and guards. "And you, Petrel, tell your people to make their choice and pick someone yourself."

"Thank you, my King. Well, what about this silent pet you always keep close?" The Merchant started evasively, "That blond one. He had served me during breakfast."

"Legolas…?" the King asked slowly, stopping.

"Whatever his name is, doesn't matter. Blue-eyed, slender blonde from the kitchens."

"You want me to give you my most favorite toy?" Lathronios snorted. "He is not one of the whores. Choose one of them. Once you take him, he will be too spoiled, he will have to stay down in the dungeon. It's a waste!"

"I promise not to damage him… overly," the Merchant said with a nasty smile. "And it is your choice whether you send him down or not. You may keep him for yourself."

"You anger me, human. I am to use something you tainted first?"

"I meant no disrespect, your Highness. I only believe that in your wisdom you will find a way to use him further, should you want to avoid wasting him."

The King gave his Merchant a long stare.

"Your pleasure slave will depend on the girl you find for me."

"Then I am absolutely calm." Petrel smirked.

"In that case, come with me. I want you to tell me about latest happenings in the Middle Earth during the dinner. I suppose you come back from Rohan's territory? There were rumors about a small group of Elves who settled there lately." Lathronios turned to the fortress, taking the main merchant with him.

"And here they are," Petrel chuckled. "It was not difficult to rout them."

"You don't want to say that you attacked them with your few lazy assistants, right?" Lathronios laughed.

"Of course not. My boys are staying in the nearest village. It's their job. I don't kill or capture them, violence disgusts me," he smiled ironically and Lathronios started to laugh. "Your guards had securely escorted me to you, and they will escort me back, it is all arranged. If I don't return in two days time, boys are to arrive immediately," the merchant smirked. "I have to take care of my safety, you understand…"

They disappeared inside the fortress, still talking. The guards followed; the two hundred of new slaves left on the pavement were shivering in the cold, broken and terrified, watching their fellow captives being taken back to the wooden carriages.

/*/

It was a private supper, one of the very few the King wished to have. It wasn't often someone came to Mirkwood and the King invited him for a private supper. Normally no one was allowed to disturb the perfect loneliness and silence of Lathronios' quarters. Yet the Merchant was ensured of everything he wanted; in this realm he was a special guest and had special rights. Legolas and Moreth were serving during dinner on a special request; they went in the chamber where the King and the Merchant were already waiting and knelt before them.

The room was luxurious. It was small, but convenient one of the King's private chambers. The Merchant was sitting in front of Lathronios, playing with a silver spoon, curling it in his fingers. Lathronios was talking when Legolas and Moreth carried the meal in; the King gestured to Moreth to come closer to him, so it was obvious Legolas had to serve the Merchant. He did so, approaching on weak legs, barely controlling the will to flee. The Merchant was obviously ogling him. Legolas' stomach churned painfully, nausea threatening his senses. Why am I reacting so? He asked himself. A terrifying feeling that something bad will happen was intensifying.

Petrel was short and fat. He had almost bald head, with hair only at the sides; it was dark grey and greasy. His eyes were rather small and the white of his eyes seemed yellow in the candle light, just as his teeth. He was wearing rich, long robes and his short fingers were decorated with awful signet rings. Legolas did not allow disgust to show on his features; he only stood behind Petrel, ready to fulfill orders, but he could not stop the assault of panicked thoughts, only intensified with the Merchant's repulsive appearance. He only hoped to be left alone. He prayed for it with every ounce of his soul.

The Merchant slowly glanced over his arm at the blond creature. His smile was so oily that Legolas took a step back; one angry word from Lathronios grounded him in place. Petrel reached a hand and fiercely grabbed Legolas' forearm, pulling him closer. He stared through a long moment, making notes to himself about slender figure, beautiful face, golden hair. Even if in rags, even if dirty and neglected Legolas was beautiful.

"Your majesty," Petrel said. "Order him to take a bath and go to my chambers, please." Legolas wrenched his hand out, moved back and stared at the merchant with outrage mixed with fright.

"No!" he called desperately, feeling as his limbs are going numb from overwhelming panic. Moreth made a move as if he wanted to come closer to his friend, but Lathronios clamped a hand on his elbow with an iron force.

"You heard the Merchant," Lathronios said, amused. "You will go now to my majordomo. For speaking without permission you shall be chastised later."

Legolas went pale; he swayed on his feet and in a minute of complete, helpless fright turned his eyes to his only friend, standing there as if turned into stone.

"I told you he is not experienced at all, Petrel," the King said, pointing his empty glass. Moreth poured the wine with trembling hands, not taking his eyes off Legolas. "You see yourself how muddle-headed he appears."

"Oh, he will be good enough," the main merchant said, smiling at the sight of Legolas, who stood there, torn between outrage and panic, not knowing what to do. "He will be good enough."

"Had you gone deaf?" Lathronios asked maliciously. "Go now."

"N-no…" Legolas whispered, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "No… no, no…"

"Guards!" Lathronios clapped his hands twice and two Elves came into the room. "Take him away to Kelfran."

"No!" Legolas screamed, now with full might, realizing suddenly what exactly will happen. "NO! NO, LEAVE ME ALOOONE!"

When touched by the first guard, Legolas struggled and was hit hardly in the stomach. He stumbled forward and bent over, losing his balance; he was lifted roughly and marched out.

"He will quiet later," Petrel muttered to Lathronios, observing the struggling, panicked Elf with an amused grin. "Although it's always a pity to quiet someone so beautifully vocal."

Laughter mixed with Legolas' screams when he was being dragged out of the room. Moreth could not do anything, still held by the King and paralyzed with shock; he only looked in his friend's begging eyes and hated himself. Legolas was strangely quiet and tense all day, clearly suspecting something. Now, when he hoped for help, his friend could not do anything.

/*/

He trashed wildly when being led to Lathronios' majordomo, Kelfran. This Elf was known from his mean character and sadistic preferences. Legolas felt cold shivers on his back; he fought against the guards with all his might, screaming the panicked 'no' over and over in a frightened denial. Not in a million years, Legolas thought, I will never go to this man's room, I will never! He managed to wrench his hand out, but the guards immediately caught him again and the blows fell on his head, back, legs and stomach. They dragged him further, wringing his hands on his back.

Kelfran opened the door to his chamber without waiting for knocking, because he heard the noise on the corridor. He glanced at Legolas coldly.

"Why are you leading him to me?" he asked.

"Our majesty's orders," the guard replied.

"Oh. I know already. I have to prepare him and take to the Merchant's room," he said calmly looking at Legolas, who was fighting with himself to not spit into Kelfran's face. "Follow me," he ordered the guards and started walking.

He led them to the bath chambers a few levels lower. Legolas was all the way struggling and trying to escape, trying to trip the guard over on the stairs, but he achieved only more bruises. They pushed him into the chamber with a huge bathtub. Kelfran followed a few steps away, preparing new clothes.

"Undress and get in there," he ordered, but Legolas did not move.

"No," he said loudly.

"No?" Kelfran asked. "I'm giving you one last chance to obey. Otherwise it may hurt."

"No!" Legolas screamed. Kelfran gestured at the guards, and Legolas was once again captured and stripped off his clothes despite his desperate fight. They threw him into the cold water and held beneath the surface.

Legolas' lungs screamed for air; his skin burned and itched from cold. He was pulled out by his hair, then immersed again. Strong arms held him down on the edge of the tub, while someone poured on his head a bucketful of suds. Legolas's skin started to burn furiously, but he did not utter even a softest whimper. Then he was pulled out of the tub, and to the ache in his scrubbed skin the pain of thousands of hair ripped out of his head was added. It made Legolas bite his lips and draw blood not to scream in pain.

"Put this on," Kelfran ordered, throwing in his direction some clothes. Legolas took them and dressed quickly, obeying this time. He did not want to stay naked in front of the guard's looks, which were stinging him. Legolas was getting frightened again. He realized he will not escape his fate, no matter how much he will try.

"To the Petrel's room," Kelfran ordered the guards, pushing Legolas into their grip. "And chain him to the bed."

Legolas gasped; _chain him to the bed? _Valar, I will never be able to escape…! Now the real panic befell him and he fought desperately, hot tears of fear spilling down his cheeks, but the guards' patience ended. After a precise hit to the head he barely remained conscious.

Legolas felt that he is being dragged somewhere, but the pain overwhelmed him for a moment and he wasn't able to move a single limb. He heard the door opening and a second later he was thrown on the bed. One heavy shackle was attached to his left ankle and secured solidly to the bed leg with a long chain.

As he could not move, Legolas only waited for the guards to leave and for the door to be shut.

He was left alone with his thoughts and with his pain. Slowly, very slowly he moved one hand; then he changed the position of his head, because he could feel the throbbing in his neck. After a few minutes he sat on the bed, fighting with the dizziness and upcoming nausea.

His situation was terrible. He was already beaten, and walking or standing up was causing pain. He checked the chain attached to his ankle. It was far too strong to break it or try to wrench the leg out. The lock was sturdy, and he had nothing what could serve as a skeleton key. He felt trapped.

I need to fight, he repeated to himself. I cannot let him have his way with me. Never. I have to defend, he thought scanning the room. He searched for anything what could be at least similar to a weapon. He found nothing. He could not escape, he had nothing to defend himself; he could not even hope for a rescue, because no one would want to sacrifice his life, and maybe the lives of his family members to rescue him. He recalled and understood that when he thought about Moreth. No. His friend could not help him and should not help him. Legolas was alone.

He nibbled on the edge of his shirt nervously. He could only wait, and waiting was consuming him. With every passing minute he was getting more frightened, and when he finally heard the heavy footsteps on the corridor, he felt the blood in his veins freeze. Only a fat man could move like this. Petrel the Merchant was coming back to his room.

The steps were slow, as if the Merchant knew what a torment it is to hear them and cannot do anything. It drove Legolas mad, it increased his fear to the point of suffocating.

The door knob moved and the Merchant entered; behind him Legolas spotted Moreth.

"You may go now," the Merchant told him. Moreth bowed and reluctantly walked away, stealing a glance in Legolas' terrified eyes. The door closed and he lost the sight of his friend.

Moreth considered the situation for a moment. If he didn't come back to the cellars he could risk a punishment, plus he wanted to come back to his ill girlfriend all day. But inside this chamber his best friend would be brutally raped in a minute and there would be no one to take care of him later. Moreth decided to stay. He sat near the wall, listening intently to every sound from the room.

"What is your name?"

Legolas didn't respond, only looked at the Merchant with defiant eyes. He promised to himself that he will be as uncooperative as possible.

"I asked you about something, slave." The Merchant slowly shrugged the rich robe off and stayed in a thin shirt and leggings only. Legolas shuddered with disgust.

"Unresponsive, are we?" He asked again. "You will learn to answer me soon. What is your name?"

Legolas said nothing. In one quick movement Petrel grabbed his belt and hit the Elf hard; with lightning speed Legolas moved away, so the belt missed its target, which was the arm, and fell on his thigh. Legolas did not know if that was better. Another blow fell and this time the Merchant aimed well, so Legolas could only cover his head by one arm.

"What…is…your…name?" the Merchant asked once again, accenting each word with a painful stroke of the belt.

"Legolas!" the fair Elf shouted finally. The blows stopped and the Merchant smiled with satisfaction.

"See? Was that so hard?" he asked Legolas ironically and affectionately ruffled his hair. Legolas pushed the hand aside violently.

"Don't you touch me!" he screamed.

"What did you say?" Petrel said. "How dare you, slave!" and he struck him once again with the leather belt. This time it was so hard that Legolas shouted out loud; the Merchant smiled at the sound.

"See? Pain is the best teacher. Now, undress, Legolas. Time to play." He said in a hoarse voice and moved away from the bed.

Legolas felt his stomach curl, but did not let fear overwhelm him. When the Merchant saw he wasn't going to obey, he approached the bed and backhanded Legolas in the face. The Elf felt adrenaline rush through his body at this assault. He knew only one thing: he had to get away from this room, from this man. He did the only thing which appeared in his head: he attacked the Merchant, pushing him aside, fighting his way to the door. Petrel fell on the floor cursing horribly and Legolas wrenched out from his hold. To the door, to the door quickly! He almost succeeded, but he forgot about one thing.

The chain.

Legolas felt a strong pull and the white-hot pain shooting up his left ankle. He fell over as the chain tensioned and the leg bent in a strange angle. Petrel grasped the chain and pulled fiercely; he was a strong man, and Legolas was underfed and overworked, so the Merchant easily made the thin body move through the floor. Legolas screamed the loudest he could, feeling as if his foot was being literally torn out of its socket; the pull has dislocated or broken the ankle. Petrel took advantage of the situation and rose to his feet, while Legolas was lying on the floor and clasping both his hands on the leg, unable to catch a breath under the force of the pain. Petrel angrily kicked the Elf, aiming between his legs. He hit well. Legolas rolled, moaning pitifully.

"You have to be shown your place, slave," the Merchant panted, kicking him in the same place three more times. He took the belt again; he played with it for a while, allowing Legolas to see it and anticipate the next attack. A fearful light in the blue, teary orbs was exciting and beautiful to his sadistic mind.

He did not swing the belt again, only leaned and wringed both Legolas' hands on his back, where he tied them with the sturdy leather. He pulled the clamp tight enough to stop circulation. The Elf squirmed beneath him, what only turned Petrel on more; he rose once more and kicked Legolas in his ribs, then again and again.

Moreth heard his friend scream totally unlike him when the first rib broke. He pressed his ear to the door, unable to move, feeling tears well in his eyes. Hearing his best friend screaming and not being able to do anything about it was horrible. He deeply wanted to go in there and at least do something. He could swear he was able to attack the Merchant with his bare fists now; in the same time Moreth knew it would only get things worse. Dispirited and frustrated, the Elf hit the floor with his fist, holding back the tears.

Completely exhausted from pain and fear, Legolas lay on the floor, shaking as if lying on ice. Petrel was already tired with the fight too. He wanted to finally get his prize, his payment. This beautiful Elf on the floor was his to take. He leaned forward and systematically torn the clothes off Legolas, even if the Elf was still fighting: he managed to kick Petrel a few times and his teeth plunged into his forearm before he was lying naked on the rags which once were his clothing.

"I wonder, why are you still fighting?" the Merchant panted into Legolas' ear. His breath stank. "What, you have never done this before? You don't know how pleasant it can be?" Legolas turned his head away. One more stinky breath and he would vomit.

The Merchant laughed and rose, pulling Legolas up by the hair and throwing him on the bed once again.

"Oh yes, virginity… well, no longer." Petrel clamped his hand on Legolas' neck and pressed the fair head to the pillow. His face buried in a pillow so deep and hard that after a few minutes he was struggling for air, trying to wrench out in order not to suffocate.

"Hold... still! Hold still, slave!" Petrel shouted.

A hard blow struck Legolas' backside. A hand, so awfully plump and cold, slipped down his back in one purpose. Legolas tried to roll away and fall on the other side of the bed, but was hit strongly again; his vision was blurred and it started to dance in front of his eyes. And that pain, Valar, how it hurt... the ribs, the ankle, the crotch, each place where the belt had hit him. Legolas felt an icy cold hand touching places where he had never been touched before. It was so awful that his stomach rolled as if it was about to throw up everything it had inside. Stop it, stop it, don't! Legolas was screaming in his mind, as his voice was muffled with the pillow. Petrel's hand was rapidly squeezing one pale buttock, then moved to another one, pinching the inside of Legolas' thigh, which made him thrash violently. But the Elf was unable to escape.

Maniacal laughter was Petrel's only reaction. Suddenly, without any warning or preparation, a blunt finger found its way to the Elf's insides. Legolas screamed piercingly as the sharp edge of one of the rings on the digit cut him deeply and sliced open his tight channel when being pulled out. His thrashing did only more damage and caused the wound to deepen; Legolas thought he is losing his senses, it hurt so much and the Merchant's words were meant only to debase him.

"You'd better get used to this, Elf. From this night it will be a routine," he mocked and put more pressure on the Elf's slender neck, pushing the finger in and out in quick, forceful thrusts, as the passage was slick with dark red blood. The touch was unbearable, it was too much to endure, and only one panicked thought stayed in Legolas' mind: stop it, stop, enough, stop!

But still, that wasn't the worst. Petrel was choking him and the lack of air slowly made him swoon. He focused only at breathing, but it was no use. Shudders went through his body, he has never struggled as much before… Only a little more and he may breathe again, only a little…

But it was already too late. Darkness embraced him and he stopped moving.

The Merchant busy with something else entirely paid no attention at first, but the limp body beneath him made him stop. He called the Elf's name first, but when he was answered by silence and not even a stir, he turned him on his back. Legolas had his eyes closed and his mouth half opened. His face was red and wet from tears. A narrow stream of saliva flowed down his chin.

Petrel realized that he was choking the Elf with the pillow. He put too much pressure on the slender neck, where the violet prints of his fingers were already appearing.

"Help…" he said quietly, adjusting his pants. He abandoned the body on his bed to reach for the door, stumbling. "HELP!" he screamed. "I killed him, I think I… killed him…" he said in total shock, running out on the corridor. Moreth immediately jumped on his feet and burst into the room. When he saw his friend, he thought he will faint.

"Legolas, open your eyes!" he screamed, checking the pulse. He found none. "No, no, don't do this to me! Hear me?" he unfastened the belt and laid Legolas flat on his back, then rapidly pressed the thin, fractured chest a few times, leaning to fill Legolas' mouth and lungs with air. He repeated the operation five times, shaky, frightened and with trembling hands.

Finally Legolas' chest rose and fell on his own and his heart started to beat again in the well known, albeit strained rhythm. Moreth sighed with relief, kneeling near his friend and laying his head on his shoulder.

"Legolas… live, please… live," he whispered, wiping the tears away. Then he recalled that the Merchant is still standing on the corridor and watching him in a panicked stupor. Anger burst within him, but he had to behave to save his friend.

"Give me the key to the chain, Sir. I need to free him," he said as calmly as he could, but his voice was trembling with fury. The Merchant was in total shock and obediently handed the key over. Moreth quickly unlocked the chain and wrapped a blanket around the limp body of his unconscious friend. He carried him out of the room, without even a glance in the Merchant's direction.

/*/

Moreth carried Legolas to the corner of the slave cellar to store him on the dispatch near Silcan. She was awake, but very weak. She opened her eyes and saw Moreth carrying a limp bundle. Legolas looked terrible.

"Moreth…?" she said quietly, trying to sit on the bed.

"Don't get up, please," he said, laying Legolas down beside her. "You need rest. Oh, Valar…" he sighed, assessing Legolas' injuries.

"What happened?" she asked, looking down at the limp Elf.

"That son of a bitch Merchant… Lathronios did not pay him the whole price for the new slaves, so he demanded a dinner and a slave for the night… We were serving dinner to them when he took Legolas' hand and ordered to lead him to his chamber. He raped him, and he almost killed him, he… choked him and…" Moreth's voice stayed put in his throat as he buried his face in his hands. Silcan sat upright with some difficulty and embraced him.

"Don't cry, beloved, we have to take care of him. He is not out of danger yet," she said quietly. Moreth nodded and leaned forward to recline Legolas better; Silcan put more hay beneath his head to act like a cushion.

"Thank you, Silcan," Moreth said to his beloved. Soon she had to lie down because she had not the strength to sit for too long. Moreth kissed her forehead and returned to Legolas.

He was beaten severely. From the bruises on his chest Moreth could suspect he had some broken ribs. His ankle was not broken, but in a very bad state. He was bleeding on his back, and the forming bruises on the swollen areas of flesh told Moreth that the sounds he heard were the sounds of whipping with a belt. Legolas' wrists were torn and bloodstained, because he was trying to wrench them out all the time. And what pained Moreth the most was that his crotch was smeared with crimson blood. He had to have some internal wounds.

He cleaned the accessible wounds with some water, but he had nothing to dress them or nurse the ankle. The bruises, still fresh and barely seen, would cover the most part of Legolas' body. His skin was torn in some places and Moreth was afraid of the shallow breathing. Legolas' lungs might have been damaged.

He lay unmoving until dawn. Moreth tried to bring some warmth to the stiffen muscles by delicate rubbing Legolas' arms and back, but he wasn't sure if that helped. He lifted Legolas up to inspect the wounds on his back again and saw huge bruises, now totally formed, purple and blue, on his back, chest, legs and hands. There was a handprint on his cheek and the marks of the fingers on his slender neck. Legolas didn't wake up; he was unresponsive and oblivious to the painful world around him. For that, at least, Moreth was thankful.

Soon the guards opened the locked door and summoned the slaves to work. Silcan was awake by that time.

"Will you take care of him if he wakes?" Moreth asked her.

"She will not have to," a hoarse voice from behind spoke. Moreth turned to it immediately and rose, forbidding access to his friend. Three guards stood before him. "We are taking him, move away."

"I won't! He is unconscious, he will not…" but one of the guards pushed him aside so hard that he fell on the nearest wall, hitting his head painfully. The soldiers took out their weapons.

"Take him away," one of them spoke. "You, don't even move or I'll stab the girl."

Moreth did not move. They dragged Legolas away; his head hung defenselessly on his chest. They dragged him naked through the corridors and Moreth could only look. He hated them, he hated Lathronios, he hated the Merchant.

And he hated himself.


	15. Fate

TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY

BOOK ONE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.

WARNINGS: *MAJOR TORTURE SEGMENT!* Please heed the warning! Leave or read at your discretion. You have been warned.

In these chapters feedback is very important for me. Please, even if you read the story usually and just do not review because you don't want to involve in painstaking reviewing these long chapters PLEASE this time just write few words about THIS chapter. I want to hear your opinions about this part.

Chapter 15: LEGOLAS' STORY – PART THREE: FATE

/*/

Legolas has awoken in a dark dungeon.

'Where am I?' he thought. It was pitch black in there, and he could not remember a thing. He was stiffen, sore and very cold. His head was heavy; as he tried to move, he came to a conclusion that all his body hurt.

After a few minutes his eyes has gotten accustomed to the dark and he started to see things around him. The stone walls were wet; rich colonies of moss inhabited the ceiling and in the middle of the floor a huge puddle could be spotted. Legolas was occupying the fairly dry corner. He could see some chains hanging from the opposite wall and a small door with granting. The darkness was frightening him, he hated the darkness, and this one here was strangely overwhelming, so he decided to relocate closer to that door, since a bit of torchlight seeped from under them and through the bars.

'Why I am here?' Legolas asked himself, trying to get up. In an instant he was reminded of his beaten body: the pain returned at once, blinding him with a blunt impact. He looked down to asses his injuries and realized he is naked.

He froze. Memories returned one by one: the Merchant's arrival, the dinner, the desperate fight with the guards and the following struggling in the Merchant's room, whipping with the belt, the pain of his ribs breaking, the lack of air and Petrel, doing…

No.

No.

No, that could not be true. He desperately wanted to remember what was next, but he could not. _Did he violate me?_ Legolas asked himself. Feeling tears well in his eyes, he sat upright and a sudden, sharp pain in his crotch halted him. His buttocks hurt as well and the insides of his thighs were smeared with dried blood forming thin, dry rivulets almost down to his knees. It answered him. Petrel the Merchant took him yesterday, while he was unconscious, and sent down here. That discovery rendered him immobile, deaf and breathless, cutting out everything except his frantic heartbeat and cold sweat on his forehead. Legolas slowly slid back down, panicked that he suddenly cannot breathe; his eyes watered and his throat clenched, and all he could do was to curl his limbs to his chest and give out an unnatural, strained, animal-like whimper.

It took him a good while to come to his senses again. Through his stupor he heard a noise outside his cell. He strained his ears to hear better, for he had no strength for a crawl to the door, and no wish either. Stiffen with fear he could only listen.

"Get off me!" he heard a terrible shriek. It must have been a young girl.

"Shut up, you whore... You exist only for one purpose! Shut up, I said!" there was a sound of a backhand across somebody's face, and a thud of a body falling on the floor. Legolas' heart missed a bit. There was spasmodic crying and the shut of the heavy, wooden door, then quickly retreating footsteps.

And Legolas realized where he was. That was the lowest part of the dungeons, reserved for the murderers waiting for the death penalty, bandits, thieves and whores. There was a special wing to that level, for ones forced into prostitution.

Just like him.

Legolas felt chills wracking his body violently and churning of his stomach so abrupt that he had to tense in anticipation of a heave. He was starved, though, and a distant memory of his last meal was not enough to vomit with. Even if he tried to tell himself to be brave, not to give up, at least not yet, he could not stop the cold claws of genuine panic ripping at his chest. From that moment to the rest of his days he would be working differently than others. He would be a pleasure slave, during the day kept in the dungeon, during the night violated and beaten by an unknown someone. There was no fate worse than this one. There was no way out. Only horrible torment and finally death. Legolas felt his entrails roll and cringe, and the blood freeze in his veins. He curled on the wet floor, embraced his legs by his hands and cried, cried so long and so violently as he had never cried before in his whole life.

When the fit was over, something else gradually won and total panic shook the elfling from head to toe. He had to get out, he had to run, he had to save his life! He just couldn't stay here, he had to do something, anything…! But his whole body was hamstrung and too weak to rise, not to mention escaping from Mirkwood… realizing he _will_ _not_ _escape_, he will die here tortured to death, Legolas screamed horribly, hitting the floor by his already scratched fist. He was screaming and screaming until all the strength he had left went out of him. This scream must have woken all the slaves and prisoners in the dungeons, but not even a single voice responded him. Everyone once screamed. Everyone knew how he felt.

He lost his consciousness again.

/*/

Icy cold water splashed on Legolas' face and he was roughly lifted up by the two pairs of strong hands. To his astonishment, he saw the King himself standing in front of him, holding his long robes gathered in one hand not to get them dirty and putting an embroidered, perfumed kerchief to his nose.

"Awaken now?" he asked. Legolas had no strength to respond, but he greedily licked the water from his lips. At least he tried; he was very thirsty and his tongue was like a piece of dry wood.

"Again," Lathronios ordered. Another bucket of water was poured on him and Legolas blinked it out of his eyes, trying to get his sight back. He licked the water again and swallowed that tiny bit down. His throat still burned.

"Do you hear me?" Lathronios asked Legolas. He nodded, breathing heavily. "Good. Now listen intently. You are here because you committed a crime. You have stolen the healing supplies from the store in order to help your friends," the King spoke.

So he knows, Legolas thought. Fine. There is nothing worse he may do to me than what he has already done.

"Do you admit to the stealing?" Lathronios asked. Legolas' head was pulled up by his hair to make him look at the King.

"Yes, Master," he rasped. It sounded like a death sentence, but there was no use in denying. Lathronios stood motionless for a while, his eyes cold and uncompassionate.

"You confessed, so I will show my mercy to you," he said finally. "I will not punish Moreth or Silcan. But _you_ cannot avoid the penalty."

The guards lifted Legolas more, so that he was standing. They marched him to the wall and turned him to face it; his arms were stretched and chained to the wall. His legs were wobbly, but he managed to stand on his own, only he could not know for how long would he manage.

"Use the whip," Lathronios said. One of the guards took the lash out from his belt. "First you will be punished for speaking without leave, as you transgressed yesterday evening during the dinner. Five lashes," the King ordered.

Legolas kept looking at the clammy stone wall in front of him, tensing in anticipation of a blow; when it finally came he could not stop the scream. The hit was malicious enough to break the skin and Legolas soon felt the warmth spreading on his back, slowly oozing from the lash. He bit his tongue and tasted blood; he did not want that hated, accursed Elf to hear him scream in pain again. Five he could surely endure with some remnants of dignity.

"Good," Legolas could detect a smile in Lathronios' voice. "Good, Legolas. So brave, as always. Good slave." The King came closer and lovingly stroked down the blood-streaked flesh. Legolas yelped at the touch and trashed violently, trying to wriggle free with all his might; the King's hand was coated with salt.

"My, my… poor elfling… be brave a little longer, it's no fun to see you give up so quickly." Lathronios chuckled, observing Legolas writhing in place, being powerless to free himself from the pain. Soon he stumbled and had no strength left to rise again, so he hung on his strained hands.

"You disappoint me." Lathronios snorted. "Now the flogging for stealing. Brace yourself, weakling," he said and moved back.

Legolas tried once more to stand, but he slipped on the wet floor when another blow fell. He stopped fighting. He focused only at enduring the penalty. He stopped counting when he came to twenty; even if the strokes were lighter and did not wound him now, they kept tearing the already opened skin. His head was spinning, arms shuddering when trying to accommodate his dead weight. Soon red whipping marks covered whole his back and the guard moved lower, to his thighs and buttocks. Shudders went through Legolas after every blow.

"Enough," Lathronios said abruptly. "That's enough. Unchain him."

He approached Legolas as the guards opened the shackles and threw the limp form off his balance. The Elf curled on the stones; he had his eyes closed and he panted heavily, still trembling. Lathronios smirked delicately.

"Are you not going to thank me?" he asked.

Legolas did not dare to raise his eyes, but he wondered stunningly: for what, in the name of the Valar, should he thank him?

"Because you should thank me for sparing your friends the penalty. Or maybe you want me to make them suffer as you do? Share your pain? I think that would be only just, little Legolas. Don't you?" the King continued and Legolas felt a wave of panic sweep through him.

"No, Master, please don't…!" he whispered quickly, choking on the words. "Thank you, Master. Thank you," he repeated, desperate not to put his friends in trouble. They were everything he had. "Thank you for sparing them, Master… I shall bear the guilt alone."

"Very well." Lathronios smirked. Your punishment starts from now until I say it is enough. Later you will be told what will happen with you. Of course you must realize that returning upstairs is quite impossible," the King mocked mercilessly. "Taken once by the Merchant you will stay here as one of the pleasure slaves. Here is your place now. Do you understand, Legolas?"

The Elf was silent. When he spoke, he was barely audible.

"I do understand, Master."

"Good. You know what to do," Lathronios said to the guards, leaving.

/*/

Legolas was dragged to the head of the dungeons' wing, Oretian. He was responsible for the slaves, the prisoners and the guards at this lowest possible level of the castle. He reigned this dark place with an iron hand, sending orders and notices from his room, like a knowing-all spider from his den.

Legolas was in too much pain to resist, so the guards led him to Oretian's chamber meeting no fight. Legolas noticed somewhat bitterly that when he was not thrashing, the whole thing was quicker and less brutal than always. He found it even little better than walking by himself. He could not move quickly enough because of his whipping wounds and the dislocated ankle, but above all other things, one exact wound deep inside him made him hiss every time he moved. He didn't know if that was his imagination or reality, but he had an impression that a thin rivulet of blood is trickling down the inside of his thigh.

Oretian granted them entrance. When he saw the pitiful picture Legolas was creating and the sickening fear hidden not quite well in his eyes, he asked only to be sure:

"Another whore?"

"Yes, Sir. And the King gave me this," one of the guards said, giving to the Elf a small parchment secured with wax. Oretian read it and threw it to the fire, frowning.

"So," he turned to Legolas, "what is your name?" he asked sitting behind his desk and taking a large book to write down the details to the register. Legolas remained silent.

"Don't make the whole thing more difficult than it already is," Oretian advised, seeing the determined look in Legolas' eyes. It looked quite out of place, given that he was naked, beaten and barely standing on his own.

"Legolas" the Elf whispered finally. He could not raise his voice, his throat was too damaged to do so and burned painfully.

Oretian asked a few more questions about Legolas' parents and his status before he landed here. Then he rose and attempted the examination.

"Move him a little closer to me," he ordered. Wild fear made Legolas struggle, so he received more hits on his already abused head and his legs gave up beneath him completely. The guards lifted him roughly for Oretian to see better.

The head of the wing firstly lifted Legolas' head to evaluate his face. The beauty of the Elf was evident and the pair of clear blue eyes widened in fear as the other man smirked.

"Lovely creature," Oretian said. "Do not shave his head, leave his hair as it is."

"But every slave…" one of the guards interrupted.

"But not this one. He is no ordinary pleasure slave, and I need his face to stay like this," Oretian said coldly. "Do I make myself clear?"

A murmur went through the guards, but they said nothing. Oretian raised his hands to Legolas' shoulders, slid them down his arms, testing the slight muscles. The Elf started to squirm, feeling quickly rising uneasiness, and the grip of the guards tightened on his arms. Oretian inspected his fair chest, checking on the ribcage. Some of the bones were broken and Legolas yelped in shock as the pain shoot through him.

"Well build youth," Oretian said finally. "He will be suitable. Turn him around," he ordered. When he saw the bloody back, he shook his head. "Why do you always bring me the most abused ones? If the infection settles, he will die in days. How am I to…" he did not finish the sentence, but sighed irritatingly. Legolas could not understand anything what was happening, but he realized that he was being evaluated. Would he make a good pleasure slave or not…?

Legolas' thoughts darted to that message on the destroyed parchment. It must have been about him. _Lathronios would not simply leave me like this,_ the Elf thought; _there must be something more to this. Oretian knows something, that was why he did not allow the guards to cut my hair, as they use to do to every slave kept in here to avoid lice._

Oretian noticed the line of blood slowly finding its way down Legolas' thigh. He reached between his legs to check if it was just a bloodstain or a serious injury, quick and indifferent; Legolas pulled back instinctively to break the touch, feeling a sudden wave of nausea biting into his entrails. Oretian moved back, but Legolas did not stop his thrashing or the panicked scream; memories swarmed into his head, and he was terrified that it started to happen again. His incoherent screams were muffled when one of the guards gagged him with a gloved hand and his arms were wringed behind his back. They stomped on each of Legolas' delicate feet hardly, pressing them to the ground. The injured ankle started to hurt terribly with every movement.

"I am not interested in violating you, boy. Stop it," Oretian said coldly. "Alright, I won't touch you. Had he been taken?" he asked the guards, who nodded. Legolas whimpered; tears started to fall from his eyes immediately. He suddenly felt very, very weak and dizzy, only able to hung limply in the guards' hold.

"Who had taken him?" Oretian asked, cleaning his hands in a small washbasin put on a sill on the opposite wall.

"Petrel the Merchant. Yesterday," the guard replied and Oretian grimaced at the name.

"That explains much," Oretian sighed. "Take the hand away, let him breathe."

The Elf opened a wooden chest standing near the washbasin and rummaged through its confines. When he approached Legolas again, he was holding a phial made of red glass.

"You will drink it," he told him. Legolas shook his head. "It's for your own good, a healing potion. I need to keep you alive for a while, and you do not want to die, do you? Then be good and drink it to prevent the infection."

Legolas did not know if he could believe this, but knew that he had no other option anyway. The Elves would just force the liquid down his throat, and it would be unbearable, damaged as it was. He nodded and Oretian put the flask to his mouth surprisingly gently, giving him the drink in small portions. It was bitter and unpleasant, but he was given some water after emptying the flask. Legolas looked incredulously at his tormentor, wondering at this show of mercy.

"So, is he good enough? We are to place him with the others, right?" the question came. Oretian stared at Legolas for a short while.

"He is not ready," he announced sharply. "Put him back into his cell. We have to work on him a while longer."

/*/

And work on him they did. Three days have passed since that talk and every morning the guards came to Legolas' cell to take him to another dark chamber where he was receiving beatings and tortures. Legolas had no clue what the punishment would be and exactly what was he punished for. Simple stealing of the medicine could not be worth that kind of prolonged penalty. Legolas wondered in panic what had he done apart of that to deserve such treatment, to be able to show his regret or to say or do anything to halt it. But they were not giving him any questions he could answer or orders he could comply. They simply day after day tortured him, without demanding anything, without giving any reason why, with only mocking laughter. Eventually Legolas concluded the medicine must have been worth more than he previously imagined and because of his deed something really bad could have happened. He also vaguely understood that his behavior in the merchant's room was unacceptable. He could not remember everything, and that only added to his distress: had he killed the man in his rage or did something to hurt him permanently? He could not remember. _But if I killed_, Legolas kept repeating to himself, _I do deserve everything they are doing to me._

What he was being put through must have been due to the fact he had been taken, anyway. Legolas realized that when the guards started to abuse him sexually. First they would make sure he is unable to fight back and then they used to start 'playing' with their newest captive. Legolas went into a state of shock after they first used him thus. He was not raped again, but he was made to pleasure them instead. He was escaping from that as far as he could go into himself, shutting his mind down, and found that he simply cannot remember what had transpired between him and the guards when he was left alone in his cell and tried to recall anything. He could remember the beating, yes. But nothing else.

Uncountable number of wounds and bruises was slowly making him weaker from the blood loss and exhaustion day after day. The pain was overwhelming, blinding out all the rest, causing him to escape deep, deep in himself. He could not stop the guards, but he could endure everything indifferent like a wooden figure, and that worked to some extent: he was too boring to deal with, after a time. Even so, Legolas was usually too dazed and exhausted to notice when or if they were dragging him back to his cell at all. He realized he can no longer rely on his senses and consciousness.

Each evening he was presented to the head of the wing, who inspected his new injuries and assessed him each time. Legolas went noticeably thinner and white as a sheet. Broken ribs caused pain with every movement, as well as the internal wound, which should have healed already, but it had not. Oretian knew that is because of the lack of proper nourishment and both physical and mental exhaustion. The boy was difficult to break. He has not reached that level yet where he should lose all his previous experience with people and remember only the basic scheme of behavior. He was not cringing from every move yet, he was not constantly afraid of the possible blow, he would not comply every order without thinking. He had run inside himself instead. Oretian was a bit afraid that Legolas would die or earn himself some kind of irreparable mutilation before his spirit will yield, which was an eventuality he could not allow. He tested his reactions each time, and always when he was about to touch his lower back level, Legolas would freak out. That exactly was the proof that he was still mentally intact: he had some areas which he was defending, and they had to erase that instinct out of him. He was to serve others with his body, after all.

And though difficult it was, Legolas finally gave up. After a couple more days of abuse, hunger and lack of sleep all defense reactions have ceased. The Elf was brought to Oretian exactly when he was eating supper and that sight has shattered something inside Legolas, causing a fit of an uncontrolled cry. Oretian slowly moved a piece of meat towards the prisoner, close enough to have a bite, and let him eat. The piece disappeared immediately, so Oretian prepared another one, cutting it carefully on his plate and jabbing it on a fork to move it closer to Legolas. The Elf strained his neck to reach, choked when swallowing the food along with bitter tears, without looking at the Elf above him. When Oretian deemed he has had enough, he casually ordered him to undress and inspected him thoroughly again. Legolas did not oppose to any of the touches, tears falling down his dirty face, leaving long smudges down to his neck.

"Exactly," Oretian said to himself, when Legolas was roughly lifted to upright again. "The will to survive is the strongest urge of all. It causes us to lie, kill other beings, or even allow others to debase us," he mused, returning to his meal. The guards waiting for the orders were not interrupting. "I have never met any slave yet, who would not yield to the basic survivor instinct. Observing this one is even a pity of sorts, he was fighting so hard… I actually feel a bit disappointed." Oretian smirked without real amusement. "Given a proper motivation anyone will behave. Isn't it true, Legolas…?"

He was silent for a moment, observing the fractured blond Elf hanging lifelessly in the guards' arms, sobbing quietly.

"Your time has come, little Elf."

/*/

After an especially cruel beating he had received afterwards, Legolas stopped thinking rationally. He forgot everything: why he was here, what did he do to deserve such a fate and what was he doing before the prison door closed behind him. He could not recall the faces of his friends or the silent whisper of the trees in the evening, the one and only music which had lulled him to sleep through so many years. He was forced to the very brink of his mind, where he could not escape any deeper, where he forgot how to speak, only screamed out his distress. Anybody could be attacked in a helpless act of self-defense.

The wounds must have been infected regardless of the potion and suddenly Legolas developed a high fever. Lying in his cell on the cold floor, he was still seeing that cruel Elves under his eyelids, holding the burning torch above him. He had been tied immobile to a wooden table, and the four had sneered at him as he thrashed; the more he begged to set him free, the more brutal they became. The torch had been moved close to Legolas' side and a terrible, pained shriek echoed in the dungeon; the awful scent of burning skin attacked Legolas' nostrils and he could stand no more. _I will die_, he had thought. _I will not endure it any more. I will die. Enough of_ _this. Enough…_

But he had not died. He had only lost consciousness.

Oretian was expecting them. He was not entirely pleased with the state Legolas was in; being responsible for his staying alive and preparing him, he would greatly displease the King if he failed to complete the task. He quickly ordered the guards to lay Legolas on the rough, wooden bed near the wall and leave.

Oretian sighed, frustrated, and attempted to clean the wounds. In the middle of the process Legolas awoke and started to fight, trying to push his hands away, but Oretian had no time for this and simply tied him to the wooden frame. A piece of fabric acted like a gag, to muffle the sobbing and the eventual screams. Oretian applied an antiseptic salve to the worst places and forced down Legolas' throat the strongest healing potion he had in store; the Elf was hamstrung with fear and tense as a bowstring, as he lay flat on his back, following every Oretian's move with his frightened eyes. Oretian could feel the constant trembling of the malnourished, fractured body under his hands.

He doubted if this creature would ever regain his strength fully back, but, to begin with, it was not his problem. He had no wish to be punished because of Legolas' death, but the Elf's well being was the last thing he cared about. He only had to prepare him, and send on a journey. Legolas could just as well die during the road; that would be somebody else's fault, though.

But still, it would be a pity to lose such a masterpiece. Oretian was darkly proud of himself. Looking at Legolas he could positively say that this Elf would never be normal again. He would never again look at someone of a higher status as on a person he should not be afraid of. He would never get rid of the ingrained habit of complete obedience. He would never even think that he might lead a different life, life without pain.

And the best part was that he would indeed believe it was all because he deserved nothing better.

"Guards!" Oretian called loudly and the two men came back into the room. "Take him away to the detention," he ordered. "Leave him some bread and water, but nothing else."

/*/

Awakening was the worst thing he had ever endured in his life.

He was sure that his eyes are open, but he could not see anything. He could not know where exactly he is. He did not remember a thing about how he landed in here. And he was pretty sure he is blind.

Movements were causing unbearable pain, so he stopped moving. There seemed to be not even one place on his body which wasn't sore or painful. Even lying motionless was uncomfortable.

And the horrible fear came: what if he was dead? What if he was doomed to be in this utter darkness for whole eternity, without anyone to talk to, without any light, alone, hopeless, bearing this pain? How could that be…?

Only with time, when the first wave of panic ceased, he concluded he has to be alive, because he can _feel_. The dead do not feel pain, do they? They don't feel at all. If so, he realized, he still has to be in the dungeons of Mirkwood fortress, in some kind of a cell. And in a tiny, dirty cell he was, without any window or granting, and it was so pitch black in here that he could not see where the door is.

But as for now, he stopped caring. He was relieved to be finally left in peace. It was so silent in here: no terrified slave voices, no whip sound. Silence uninterrupted by anything. It was damp in here, but Legolas did not mind as long as he was lying on a dry piece of ground.

That first day was a bliss. Legolas realized it was supposed to be another part of his punishment, but he welcomed its form, since he was left in peace to heal and to be alone with his thoughts. The potions and medicaments affected him and he felt dazed, but overally better. He had been sleep-deprived for long, and so he decided to make up for it. He curled in a ball and rested, welcoming the healing sleep that befell him. When he woke up the next day, or so he assumed, there was no change in his surroundings and no one in vicinity either. It unsettled him, but he discarded such thoughts for that moment. He was left alone and that pleased him. Maybe he was left here to die? But, on the second thought, was it not what he wished for?

He slept the most of the second day as well, but once he woke, it started to get much worse. He was now conscious enough to feel cold, wet, famished and unthinkably thirsty. And the pain would not go away: if anything, it only intensified because the effects of the drugs had worn off. The chill from the wet stones seemed to settle down in his bones. Legolas tried very hard to move and finally succeeded, but he could not stand upright in the tiny room or even stretch on the floor. He was trapped in so small a space that he felt frightened.

But he found a metal pitcher of water and some bread put on the floor in the close neighborhood of the heavy, iron door. He drank quickly, eager to swallow something at last. The water tasted strangely and he could not force into himself more than few bites of bread, but at least it was something. He lay to sleep again; a strange feeling of dread overwhelmed him and it was long until he found some rest again.

Three days had passed. Legolas was terrified to the core. Claustrophobic as every Elf was, he curled into a ball near the wall, covering his head by hands. He tried to eat something more, but he thought he is going to be sick at any time, so he lay back down. He was left completely alone, without edible food or water, without any light, without any sound, without any living being. He could tell no more where he is or why he is here. He could cry long hours, without any tears as he was dehydrated, he could cry out and scream desperate to hear _something_. He was so scared that the walls will suddenly move on him to crush him or that something is lurking in the surrounding darkness. That irrational, paranoid fear was driving him crazy, frightening him to the point he thought he is going to vomit. And although the pain faded slightly again, the need of water in his system was mounting up. In those rare, short moments, when he was asleep, he dreamt about water. About large pools, lakes and streams in the mountains. Of cold, crystal, clear water.

Finally the thirst conquered the despise and totally desperate, the Elf moved closer to the wall, where the tiny droplets were falling to the puddle on the floor. Legolas knew he can survive no longer without water, so he drank a little from the puddle. The water tasted horribly bitter and the sand gnashed between his teeth. In one quick motion Legolas turned away and arched painfully to throw up – but as he had nothing inside his stomach, nothing came out. The dry vomit was tormenting Legolas long in the night.

He stopped believing he will ever see the sun or trees again. He dreamt about them, but he could not tell if he was awake or asleep; he could not tell the border between sleep and reality. It was obvious to him that he is going mad, and it terrified him even more, for he imagined it will bring only more of this unbearable suffering. He thought he could hear somebody speaking, somebody laughing, but when he tried to hear better, there was nothing. He called: 'I am here!' to prompt where he is in case that somebody was looking for him or wanted to help him, but he was answered by heavy silence. The imaginary voices returned later to torment him further and ensure that he is indeed turning to the world of madmen.

Once he rose on his feet and started hitting the door with his fists with all remaining strength, screaming, begging, pleading to let him out. He knew they can hear him. He begged until he could say no more word, he cried until he made himself sick, he hit the door until his hands bloodied. Then he was calling that he was sorry. Whatever he did, he was so sorry for it. He was apologizing over and over again, hoping that it was the right thing to say, but no one came. All his strength left him and he calmed down, curling on the floor again, staring into the darkness.

Five days passed.

Nothing beside the emptiness, fright and silence.

Nothing changed until the end of the sixth day. The door suddenly opened and Legolas was blinded with the light coming from the torch. He covered his eyes with his hands, but the wave of relief washed over him when he realized he is not blind. The guards roughly grabbed him and marched away from the cell; Legolas had no idea where he was being led to and what was going to happen to him, he could not see, because the light was blinding him, but one he knew: he was no longer in that cell. He almost cried from relief.

He was dragged once again to Oretian. The guards were granted entrance immediately.

"Legolas?" Oretian asked tentatively, as he beheld the Elf. He had no guarantee that Legolas was not mad after all this time alone.

"Y-yes, Master," Legolas replied quickly, with voice so hoarse that he barely recognized it as his own. He was still keeping his eyes shut.

Oretian sighed imperceptibly with satisfied relief. The Elf was able to reply, and that was a good sign.

"Open your eyes, Legolas." Oretian ordered. The Elf tried to comply, but could not do it. His eyes were teary and fiery red, clumped with brownish puss. He looked horrible: so thin that the tunic he had been given was hanging on his famished limbs and the leggings, made to cling to the body, were completely loose. His hair was a dirty mess with severe knots. His hands were scratched and bloody, fingers matched with splinters.

"Open your eyes and come closer," Oretian repeated. Legolas did his best to comply, moving stiffly on his legs, which seemed to have forgotten how to walk. "Is there anything you wanted to tell me now?" Oretian asked cruelly.

"I-I a-m so sorr-y," Legolas said quietly. "I will n-never anger y-you again, M-master. I beg y-you not to put me b-back there, I w-will do whate-ever y-you want me to. I am s-sorry…" the Elf sobbed, trembling all over. Oretian smirked.

"I want you to discard your clothes and lie on the bed."

Legolas immediately lifted his hands to the collar of his dirty tunic and unbuttoned it, then slid the leggings off and stumbled closer to the wooden bed to slide on it and lie flat on his stomach, stretching the hands above his head for the guards to tie them.

"See?" the head of the wing smiled. "Now he is ready."

/*/

When taken to Lathronios, Legolas' trembling did not lessen even a bit. Otherwise, he was so terrified that he could not remember his own name.

Lathronios was very pleased. When Oretian walked into the room followed by the guards leading the thin creature by his arms, he already knew that Legolas is ready to be sent to Rivendell.

Looking at the pitiful Elf, Lathronios saw nothing of his former pride and defiance. He was beaten severely, but his face remained untouched, as the King ordered. He could not risk the Elves in Rivendell reject the gift seeing in how bad state he is. Legolas was limping and his breathing was shallow, the evident sign of broken ribs. The King once again wondered at Oretian's unique talent; two weeks in the dungeon made Legolas a completely different Elf. Only so short a time Oretian needed to change him into the frightened out of his mind, completely passive slave, prepared to fulfill every order, even the most cruel or unnatural demand.

"Listen to me, Legolas," Lathronios started. "You have disobeyed me greatly, but now I reconsidered your situation and your punishment is over. Now listen carefully, because I will not repeat myself." Legolas nodded quickly his understanding. Lathronios came closer.

"I can throw you back into the dungeons, if I think it is what I fancy to do, and after a day you will die from your wounds, blood loss and exhaustion. And this is a terrible death, believe me. You had a sample in the detention. I can as well heal you and make you stay in the prisons, as one of the pleasure slaves." He grabbed a handful of Legolas' hair to force him to look at him.

"But I don't need another whore. Especially if you are quite talented and diligent, and quite pretty as well. It would be a waste to leave you there." Lathronios said slowly and quietly. Legolas opened his eyes; he couldn't believe in what he heard. Is Lathronios going to let him work with the household again? His heart was beating wildly. It was simply impossible, but the weak light of hope does not acknowledge the word.

"Are you listening to me still?" Lathronios asked.

"Yes, Master," Legolas stammered hoarsely.

"Good. I will not let you stay there. I will not allow to waste you." He said and arched an eyebrow. "Are you not going to thank me?"

Legolas wanted to kneel, but was being held fiercely. He closed his eyes instead and whispered his thanks again and again, in his heart recalling Moreth and all these people he loved. He would see them all again! After that dark prison, after everything he had been through, he recalled his friend again and his heart almost burst with the pain it caused. Valar, he would see him again…

Lathronios smirked ironically, as if sensing what the young one was thinking.

"You will fulfill your duty to your homeland. Mirkwood has debts which must be paid. We have to thank Imladris for help," he said shaking the blond head a little to silence his sobbing. "Listen carefully. I'm sending you to Rivendell. I'm giving you to Elrond the Peredhel, and you will serve him well, just like you served here. I have no doubt that Lord Elrond will be glad from the gift of a pleasure slave, my pretty."

If somebody could hear the frightening sound of a spirit breaking and a willpower shutter into pieces, he would have definitely heard it in that moment. Lathronios released Legolas' head from the grip and the Elf fell on the floor, unable to stand or kneel any longer. He knew he would be punished for the disrespect. But nothing mattered anymore. Nothing was important. All Legolas truly wanted was to be killed, but it was not to be. The guards pulled him up and dragged away from the room back to the dungeons.

/*/

It was evening already, when Moreth hurried into Legolas' cell. The guard opened the door and let him in. Moreth placed the torch in a handle on the wall and spotted Legolas, curled in a foetal position near the wall.

"Legolas!" Moreth shouted and knelt near him. He tried to uncurl his friend, but Legolas whimpered and only shrunk tighter, pressing his knees to his chest.

"Legolas, please, let me help you!" Moreth said, feeling tears in the eyes. "Let me… move, my friend…" he put more pressure on his limbs, causing Legolas to moan and shield his head by one arm.

"No…" he whispered.

"Legolas, please" Moreth embraced him. "It's me… it's Moreth… I won't hurt you," he repeated. Finally, with difficulty, Legolas recognized him and whispered his name very hoarsely, as if he could not believe that it was really his friend. Moreth realized he had to scream long to damage his voice so badly.

"M-Moreth?..."

"Aye, it's me, it's me… Valar, what did they do to you… I will help you," Moreth whispered, spreading a blanket on the hay. "Legolas, can you sit here?"

The Elf shook his head no. He could not move at all. Moreth helped him to move, but Legolas was so badly beaten that every movement caused throbbing pain. Tears fell down his cheeks immediately despite his will to stop them. He was red from shame, he wished to have no witness of his weakness, but he had no strength to say this to Moreth. He allowed his friend to drag him on the blanket and lay him down. Every single muscle in his body trembled from exhaustion this very few movements caused.

"I know it hurts, I know… shush, now it's over," Moreth whispered, laying him securely. He took some clean cloths from the bag he had brought. "I will need hot water!" he called to the guard outside the cell. The Elf disappeared and returned shortly with a full bucket.

"Thank you," Moreth said, wetting the cloth.

"Hurry up," the guard growled.

"It will take a lot of time, and I will not hurry," Moreth snapped back. He attempted to clean Legolas' wounds. The Elf was lying still with his eyes closed, but when Moreth touched his ribcage, he jerked and whimpered pitifully like a beaten dog would if somebody touched his broken leg, pushing Moreth's hand aside.

Moreth did his best to clean the wounds, but Legolas was not very cooperative. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, and most of the time he wasn't recognizing Moreth. He struggled weakly against his friend's hands, and did not let him touch his ribs. He curled back on the blanket and buried his face in hands.

"Leave me be…" he moaned, sure it was not Moreth, but another guard, who was here to torture him. "Go away…" he whispered.

"I cannot, Legolas. I have to help you first." Moreth repeated once again, even if it hurt to hear Legolas' plea.

The fair Elf was now covered in filth, dry blood and bruises. Moreth had cleaned most of it, but his friend still looked like dirty. He had difficulties with tending to Legolas' back, for the Elf fought to shield them all the time. It hurt Moreth to the core, but he had to wring Legolas' hands and hold him down to be able to touch the whipped area. The Elf immediately stopped moving. He was lying motionless, staring right in front of him, and Moreth become seriously scared of it. When he finished, he turned him again to look in his friend's eyes. He saw fear.

Comforting him would not work. Talking to him would only worsen his state. Moreth swallowed the tears and wrapped Legolas tightly in another blanket. He had to do one more thing, convince him to take a medicine against the possible infection. He dissolved some of the medicine in a mug full of water and did his best to coax Legolas to drink. That wasn't easy, the Elf was turning his head to the sides, avoiding the mug. After some time Moreth gave up, put the mug aside and hugged his friend.

"Please… please, Legolas… it's me, it's your Moreth… Wake up and be yourself only for a while… please," he repeated, close to tears. He had never seen his friend in such an oppression. He was really worried about his life. If he could not recognize him even, his mental state must have been quite unsteady.

Long minutes passed and Legolas calmed down gradually. He did not know why somebody would hold him in his arms, but at least he was not being beaten again. He let his guard down; whoever it was, he had no intention to hurt him. He focused on the warmth slowly filling his body because of the blankets and a warm person embracing his upper body. He started to feel a little bit more comfortable, so when he heard a silent voice speaking softly pleas and gentle encouragements, Legolas was conscious enough to recognize it once more:

"…oh, Valar, I beg you… let him be awake, only for a minute, but let him… make him live, please," Moreth prayed silently.

Legolas stirred. His eyes opened and were once again focused, even if not any clearer. Moreth smiled through tears.

"You're awake?" he asked. Legolas whispered a silent 'yes' and tried to smile, but did not quite succeed. "That's good. You need to drink something before you fall into unconsciousness again, alright?" Moreth told him, desperate to use every opportunity. Legolas blinked and nodded his agreement with considerable effort. Moreth lifted the mug to his lips. The liquid was horribly bitter and Legolas turned his head away from it.

"No, no, please! It's against the infection. Try again, there's not much of it. Only a few sips." Moreth said hurriedly and put his palm on Legolas' jaw to turn him once more to the mug.

"…have to…?" Legolas moaned.

"Yes. You have to," Moreth said, observing his friend sipping at the liquid. "How are you feeling?" he asked when Legolas finished.

"N-no… well," came the whispered reply.

"Sleep. You have to rest. I will come to you tomorrow at dawn and later in the evening. I'm leaving you water and some food. Try to eat something later, or at least drink… You're dehydrated," Moreth said.

"M-oreth…" Legolas whispered closing his eyes. He took his friend's hand and squeezed it faintly. "T-thank y-ou."

Moreth embraced him. It was cold in here even for him. He was glad and thankful for these few words from his friend, but he still feared about his life. He did not know how Legolas will survive the cold in the night.

"You, leave him and get out," the guard said to Moreth. The Elf laid the limp head of his friend on the blanket and left Legolas' side. He hoped that when he would return at dawn, Legolas would be still alive. He was looking at Moreth pleadingly, observing him leave the dungeon, and Moreth with the last effort of his willpower did not come back to him. If he did, he would cause Lathronios to forbid his visits in the cell. And one thing Moreth knew for sure, without him Legolas would die.

/*/

Legolas has spent two more days in the dungeon. Moreth used to come to him every morning and evening, only to notice that his state was getting worse. He suddenly got high fever and he was thrashing on the blankets, moaning in obvious pain. He must have simply given up on himself and lost the fight with the illness.

Moreth forced him to take one more portion of the medicine and he smuggled into the cell some of the drug Legolas had stolen for Silcan. The infection faded a little, but the fever stayed. Legolas was burning.

When he was awake and recognized Moreth, he could not remember the previous visits of his friend. He refused to eat, only drank a little. Most of the time he was unconscious and limp as a rag doll. Moreth lost the smallest amount of hope he had. His friend was dying.

That night Moreth was sitting near Silcan in the cellars and could not sleep. His girlfriend was well now; she was embracing Moreth and rocking him gently, listening to what he was saying with tears in her eyes. She liked Legolas so much. He was such a good friend, such a kind person.

"We're losing him, Silcan. There is nothing I can do," sobbed Moreth. "He might be dead already. When I left him, he was delirious."

"If he died, they at least wouldn't take him to Imladris," she whispered, but found no consolation in this words.

"Don't say such things," a sudden voice from the corner spoke. It was a newly bought slave from the latest transport. He was tall and still had his long, beautiful hair unshaved, and his eyes were shining when he crawled closer to them. He was wounded, but seemed strangely relaxed.

"Why?" Moreth and Silcan said in unison.

"Because Imladris is his only way to survive," the Elf said. "I know this place. It is a beautiful land, full of sun and fresh water, and green trees. There is no hunger, no draught, no danger. Lord Elrond rules this realm. He is very old and very wise. He is a good Elf. He won't hurt that friend of yours, on the contrary, he will heal him. He is the best healer in Middle Earth, at least I don't know of any better, and I have seen things, believe me."

"How can you know?" Moreth asked, taking the Elf's hands in his. If he was telling the truth, it would be all too wonderful.

"I had been there. Once I was trapped by the orcs, me and my companions. The Elves from Imladris found us and took with them. They welcomed us in the realm, took care of our wounds. Never before had I known such kindness, gentleness and hospitality…" The Elf said in a dreamy voice. His eyes were little unfocused.

"Listen to me, brother," he said to Moreth, leaning forward to him. "If you want to save your Legolas, you have to keep him alive. When he is in Imladris, you won't have to be worried any longer. Lord Elrond will help him. He knows medicines no one else knows. Believe me, I saw him once; he is good to everyone. Elves in his realm are happy, clean, healthy. Beautiful. He rules his land well. This place seems to be an Elven heaven in comparison with… this," he snapped the last word. "You have to keep your friend alive. It's a way to happiness for him. He is unbelievably lucky to be allowed to stay there. Keep him alive no matter what!"

"But I cannot any longer!" Moreth sobbed. "He is dying already, and I can't do anything!"

"Give him this," the Elf said, thrusting into Moreth's hand a tiny bundle. Moreth opened it hurriedly. There were dried leaves wrapped in paper.

"What is this?" he asked.

"A drug," the Elf answered calmly. Moreth tilted his head up to look in his eyes.

"That's why your eyes are shining so much! You're groggy!" he whispered terrified.

"Yes. It keeps the pain at bay," and he showed to him a hideous wound on his side. It was infected, dirty and smelled badly. "And has some more… abilities. Put it in his mouth, when no one will be able to see you, because you have to know that possession of this is punished by death. The pain will fade, and your friend will be dazed, but he won't be suffering so much. There is even a possibility that he will wake. In that case don't tell him that you are drugging him. Lie if you must. One leaf will be enough, don't give him more until at least twenty four hours pass, because an overdose will kill him. As for now don't force him to eat, Elves may go without nourishment long; but make sure he is hydrated and fight with the fever. He may still have a chance. Do you understand?"

Moreth nodded and took three leaves from the bundle. He gave it back, but the Elf closed Moreth's hands on it.

"Keep it all," he whispered. "I won't need it anymore."

"You're wounded, you will need them!"

The Elf shook his head and smiled. He was so calm that Moreth thought he may be insane.

"Poison," the slave said. "The blade was poisoned. By the dawn I will be dead as a doornail, brother."

Moreth went pale. Silcan whimpered and buried her face in the dirty mattress.

"Don't be so scared," the Elf said, patting his hand. "I will just fall asleep. I have lived long enough, quickly and intensively. Now I am glad to help you. If your friend survives, make sure he stays in Imladris. And tell him to thank Lord Elrond from me for the last time. If he dies, we will meet in Mandos' Halls. I go at peace, brother," the Elf said. "I go at peace… Rest. You need some sleep."

"No. I will stay with you." Moreth said, holding his hand.

"I'm glad." Came the reply. The Elf sighed and supported his back by the wall, sitting. Talking for so long exhausted him and he laid his head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, my friend," Moreth said to him. The Elf smiled, looking at him.

Moreth stayed by his side. The Elf was muttering, humming something for a longer while, then laughed quietly as he remembered something; 'Glorfindel of Gondolin', he kept repeating for a while. Then he simply fell asleep with that calm smile on his face and never woke up again.

/*/

"Easy, my friend, easy," Moreth said, helping Legolas to sit on the blankets. After giving him the drug, the strange Elf's last gift, his state improved considerably. He managed to stay awake few hours, ate some of what Moreth had brought and talked with his friend more or less at ease.

"How are you feeling?" Moreth asked.

"Better," Legolas said quietly. He was very feeble, but sober as never before since he landed here. Moreth was glad.

"Listen carefully now. We will set out tomorrow at dawn. I will come to you a couple of hours before it, I will help you wash up and I will find clothing for you. Be prepared, alright?" Legolas nodded his understanding. Moreth handed him a cup of water. "Drink this. You are horribly dehydrated."

"I don't want to go to Imladris," Legolas whispered, taking the cup.

"Don't say such things," Moreth repeated the strange Elf's words and his heart clenched with pain. "I talked about it with one of the new slaves. He had been there. He… knows Lord Elrond, to whom you will be given. He told me that he is a healer, and he will help you. He said that whole Elrond is good, that he can be trusted. He won't hurt you. He described Imladris to me, it is a sunny, beautiful land. You will feel much better there. This is your way to escape from here, to end this torment, at least improve somehow your conditions. If you stay in Mirkwood, you will… Legolas, look at me, please."

"I don't want to go there," Legolas repeated, staring deadly at the wall.

"You prefer to stay in this dungeon?" Moreth asked.

"I was thinking…" Legolas started. "I could simply escape on the road, during the night…"

"They will capture you again and it will cost you dearly. Legolas, in your state you will not run away far, and you will not survive another beating. Do you want to die?" Moreth whispered in outrage.

Legolas was silently avoiding his friend's eyes.

"Yes," he whispered. "I wish that. And I would not escape to gain my freedom. I would escape to gain some time. I need time and something sharp, like a knife, to end it finally."

That was enough for Moreth. He clenched his hands on Legolas' shoulders and shook him violently; he paid no attention to the pitiful whimper he elicited and continued the shaking, angrily pulling his friend closer.

"So I was helping you for naught? You want to say I've done all this only for you to commit a suicide? You fool, if you once more say or even think about something like that, you can stop considering me as your friend! I'm giving you the way to escape, and you wish to die? Have you lost your mind utterly? You said they will never break you, and what I see? You said they won't break you, that you will not allow this, you said that, I remember! Promise me you won't try to kill or hurt yourself in any way! Promise me that!" Moreth continued the shaking, keeping his voice down as much as he could, aware that the guard might be listening. Legolas was sitting still with tears in his eyes, refusing to look at Moreth. He shook him strongly one more time. "Promise me, Legolas!"

"I promise," Legolas moaned in despair. "Let go… It hurts…"

"Remember that promise. Remember what you promised me," Moreth snapped. "I'm going with you, so I will keep an eye on you."

"Why are you going with us?" Legolas asked worriedly.

"The King ordered me to guard you. I have to make sure you won't try to escape. And I will," Moreth said, leaning forward. "I will do everything in my power to securely take you to Imladris."

/*/

To the final visit at the Oretian's office Legolas was escorted by Moreth. The Elf was clean and dressed in new clothes, ready for the journey. His hair was combed; it was one more terribly painful experience Legolas had to endure, even if not caused on purpose.

Oretian chained Legolas' hands together with a pair of heavy cuffs and instructed him one last time how he should behave in Imladris.

"You have to remember that you are only a slave, nothing more, and nothing they may say or do will ever change that. You are worse than they are. They are royalty. You are a mere plaything. You are tainted, taken, and so you will be again. That is what you deserve and what you have earned yourself. Now you have to be useful to your homeland. Understood?"

Legolas nodded quickly.

"You will behave, Legolas. Whatever you do reflects back on your preparation and training, so remember to be polite. Don't raise your eyes not to show disrespect. Do not speak without being spoken to. Remember the etiquette. Clear?"

Oretian glanced at Legolas questioningly. He nodded once again to show that he acknowledged the warning.

"You are to never leave the valley without their permission. It will be considered as an escape, and the penalty for it is death. I do not know where you should sleep; Imladris has a noticeably warmer climate, so I suppose outside of the palace. At winter they may let you shelter in the stables, but if I were you, I would not count on that. They are also much less merciful than we are, so besides pleasuring them you will be working during the day." Oretian said and smirked sadistically. "I heard that Elrond is very possessive. That's good in your case: if you interest him, he won't let anyone else lay with you. Of course, you should expect they will most certainly find a way, with or without his permission. But you must be ready for it, do not imagine any romantic moments of loving bliss. Rather quick and harsh treatment. And do not make scenes. No fighting, no struggling, no screaming. Unless, of course, you are ordered to do so." Legolas shivered at the revelation.

Oretian walked around Legolas, assessing his state of clothing.

"They have special robes for the household. Maybe you will be allowed to wear them as well. Personally I think they will want to brand you somehow. Oh, and they are addressing themselves 'my Lord' there, they may want you to use that title… they will let you know. But remember, it is the same as 'Master', do not have any illusions. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master." Legolas replied obediently. Oretian now turned to Moreth.

"I believe that's all. You are responsible for him; if he escapes or disappears in some mysterious circumstances, you will pay for it. If both of you run away, just remember that you leave family behind. You are responsible for his safe delivery. In the pack I prepared you will find some antiseptics in case he ran a fever or fell ill. You must get him to Imladris _alive_. And now, off you go," he dismissed them.

Moreth had to help Legolas to walk. It was still dark, but they had to set off early. The horses were already waiting.

"How long will we be riding there?" Legolas sighed softly in a beaten tone.

"I suspect two weeks." Moreth answered, helping his friend to climb the stairs.

"Long." Legolas sighed. "I don't know if I manage."

"Yes, you will. I will see to your being safe in Imladris, I promised that." Moreth so much as hissed in irritation, squeezing Legolas' shoulder.

/*/

Journey from Mirkwood to Imladris was the last life-shattering experience Legolas had to endure. He had too few days to heal fully and rest after being given to another keeper, and these were days of tiresome travel. Every morning Moreth was giving him one leaf to chew, and Legolas was taking it always without a question. In fact he allowed Moreth and the guards to do with him whatever they wanted. He didn't care, for he wished to die severely; Moreth's actions always served to keep him alive, so he was allowing them, albeit reluctantly. He was still very weak and, to Moreth's horror, beaten into submission. He would not stay ahorse on his own, so he was sitting in front of Moreth, supported by his friend's chest and the strong hold of his arms.

Riding was a sheer torture. Legolas' crotch still hurt terribly, the internal wound was reopened too many times during his stay in the dungeons and never actually healed properly. He was stumbling with stiffness if he was forced to make a few steps, and after the whole day of riding he used to just slide-fell off the horse to lie on the ground motionlessly, because he had not the strength to dismount and sit down. He lay like this to the dawn, not caring where he landed. He still refused to eat much, only drank water in huge amounts. Finally Moreth succeeded in forcing him to eat more, but it was most certainly not enough.

Each time the guard shouted at him, Legolas cringed and obeyed the order. Moreth's heart bled when he was looking at him. His injuries were healing slowly, not quite properly, but always healing. The strength was coming back each day more, and when they reached Imladris' borders, his friend could walk and ride more or less normally. However, his breathing troubled Moreth: some of his ribs were broken. Legolas was not complaining, but he wasn't able to take a deeper breath. Besides, broken bones could be knitting together in the wrong way, which would be disastrous. There was nothing Moreth could do though.

Moreth came to the conclusion that this would be the Elf's final shape from now on. Before he had been slender and agile, but it was replaced by a famished, stumbling form. Before he used to laugh and hum during work, but it died into mute submission. His mental state was even more damaged than his body. Legolas was a wreck: obedient, quiet, broken. He had problems with his memory. He could not remember all that happened, and sometimes after waking up he could not recall where he was or why he is here. Moreth was explaining patiently, but that was always eliciting a fit of spasmodic crying. Guards didn't like that and always took the opportunity to stroke the crying, defenseless figure with a whip or a crop.

Generally, though, Legolas was silent. He was staring the whole day at his bound hands or the horse's neck, allowing his thoughts to run over and over again this fatal happening in Mirkwood; at least the part he was sure of. He was unresponsive, unless somebody threatened him by a blow. He did not allow Moreth to enter his closed and beaten mind, but in the same time he wished his friend to stay with him. He was frightened of this new land he was being taken to, his new Master, new household and labours. He did not quite believe Moreth when he told him that Elrond will not hurt him. He was sure another violations and beatings would take place, and it will be so much worse, because there would be no friend by his side. He would be totally alone. And yet the promise… He promised he would not hurt himself. So there was only one way left for him: day after day slowly dying, to finally never wake up again. But it was a painful and long way. And Legolas was so tired of tortures.

Tortures did not end with him leaving the fortress' prison, though. The guards kept up their habit of using Legolas to spent their own pleasure during the road. Moreth was both terrified and outraged when he found out Legolas had disappeared with a guard in the forest. He was sure Legolas had done something stupid and now was being punished privately. But when he saw the guard leading his friend back to the camp, with visible traces of semen on Legolas' cheeks, Moreth took a step back. So that was the truth. Legolas had been indeed turned into a whore.

Not really knowing what to think about it, torn between disgust and pity, Moreth did not comment upon that.

The last stop before Imladris' border was somehow a relief. Legolas suddenly appeared more conscious and more aware of things. To Moreth's surprise, he initiated a talk, remarking that the beauty of this land is stunning. Moreth was overawed too; for him this journey was a wonderful, bittersweet experience. For the first time since his capturing he was allowed to leave Mirkwood, to see the blue sky instead of the dark one, to smell fresh air. He was happy to be out, to escape from the dreadful reality if only for a few days.

They could have laughed, that once, a tone too loudly. Or maybe it was simply the fact that they dared to voice their fragile relief at all. The guard turned to the pair of slaves with fury on his face.

/*/

"…there must have been a human village somewhere near, for there was a shrine hanging from a tree," Legolas swallowed thickly, speaking with that alien, absent voice he had developed through the last three hours. "And there was a small figure of some kind of a deity carved from the wood. Antelas brought me closer to that tree and told to look at the figure. He said that nothing in this world, be it law, mercy or money, be it Elven or human God, nothing will change my fate or who I am, and I am a slave, an abominable whore. He ordered me to look at the figure. And he started beating me. Everywhere… on my head, on the back… he kicked me in the stomach. I was looking in the dead eyes of the wooden deity and I thought… I knew… Antelas was right."

Legolas sighed briefly. His eyes were fixed onto something far, unfocused. He had been trying to remember things through most of the time, and his friends were not interrupting, too shocked to move.

"I don't know how I recuperated, really. Maybe he didn't beat me that badly…? Next thing I know is a green clearing… a pool, and a whispering tree… Moreth cleaned me in some kind of a pool. I don't remember. I think I was given new clothes. Later… there was a hall, Imladris Council Hall, yes… and I saw Moreth the last time. And I was scared, so scared… but I was accepted… and there was… there was…"

Legolas hung his head. His voice seemed to finally give up.

"Our father," Elladan spoke silently. "Right?"

Legolas nodded, unable to make a sound, trying to fight the first tears off his eyes.

Elrohir had his jaw hung open, Elladan stared at Legolas with terrified, shocked eyes. Verién had difficulties with holding the tears back. They all haven't said a single word during the story, and they did not know how to react now. Finally Verién crawled out of her bedroll to approach Legolas. She embraced him tightly, and he let her do it.

"I don't want you to pity me," Legolas said quietly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "I don't want mercy. I want you to… be as you were before you knew… I want you to be my friends, as you were… I beg you," he said hugging Verién back and glancing worriedly at the twins. They crawled to him too.

"We will always be your friends. Always," Elrohir said. Legolas uttered a sigh of relief so hard that he almost choked on the air, as his throat was still clenched. The twins leaned closer and hugged him too, figuring he would need some safe physical contact now. All of sudden, even if he managed to stay detached through all of the painful story telling, Legolas shuddered with a wave of tears he could not stop.

"Shush, Legolas, we are here," Verién whispered, coaxing them all to lie back in their bedrolls and hold Legolas close. "You don't have to be afraid. This will not happen again. This was all injustice, this was all wrong… you didn't deserve it in the slightest. Shush, Legolas, you are safe among friends, who will never let any harm come to you."

They tried to calm him down by such whispering and ease him into slumber, but it worked only to some extent. The Elf clutched at Verién's waist and wept, catching the air with difficulty, covering his face with a free hand.

"Cry as much as you wish," Verién told him eventually. "Cry as much as you have to. We are here with you, you are safe. We would only want to make you feel better… what would calm you down, little brother…?"

Legolas raised his red eyes on her and his lips trembled evidently.

"M-Master… Elrond," he sobbed out, "…I w-would want Master Elrond… Master Elrond," he mewled and his cry developed a hysterical note. That name was more than he could bear silently.

The twins and Verién exchanged looks. They understood that Elrond meant more to this little creature than the whole world. They could not blame him as in that moment they understood fully hat kind of position Elrond has taken, what kind of a savior he was. Legolas shook in their embrace, exhausted and mentally unwell, reaching for comfort only his Master could give, clinging to every small ounce of warmth the friendship could offer him. The twins and Verién understood suddenly that without Elrond Legolas will fade off or hurt himself, and without them he will not be able to regain his footing in the normal daily routine. He needed them both equally desperately.

They stayed hugged until the spasmodic cry ceased. Legolas stopped wiping the tears away after a time; he hid his face in his bedroll and slowly, slowly stopped moving, with tears still running down his cheeks, only slower. Eventually he cried himself to sleep, slipping into oblivion out of genuine fatigue.

His friends watched over him in turns. When the lamp was going out, it was lit anew. Legolas would appreciate some light whenever he woke, and woke he did often. His sleep was a disturbed, twisted kind of rest.

The sound of rain filled their ears again. It was welcomed. Cleansing. It had a steady, calming pattern.

It washed down the past.

/*/

King Lathronios of Mirkwood Forest was sitting in his office and calmly signing some papers. It was a quiet hour of late evening and he could think in solitude. Today his thoughts were wandering around one blond boy, who had caused him that much trouble.

"So much trouble, just as his father… oh well." Lathronios reached for his wine, admiring the smooth feeling of crystal under his fingers, steadily glancing at the acts of dispossession, reports on people and death sentences scattered on his desk.

He had thought it would be troublesome, but eventually it showed to be a great way of getting rid of the boy, Lathronios admitted reminiscing about the past. It had been an early summer evening after the dinner when the merchant left him for some sleep in his bedchamber, where little Legolas was supposed to wait for him. And he did. Lathronios had heard the noise of fight and curses, but paid no attention; it was always noisy when the merchant asked for a slave for the night. He got accustomed to that, even fancied listening sometimes. But that day it had been lauder in the merchant's room than ever before. Some time later Lathronios' majordomo had ran to his King's room and announced that the merchant is coming. Lathronios had been just about yelling at his guest and turning him out from Mirkwood, but one thing had stopped him; that time the merchant had not asked for an Elf Lathronios never saw and never cared about. That time he had asked for his brother's son, Legolas. Lathronios had been simply curious what had happened.

"I think I killed him," the merchant had said, all shaky. "I choked him by accident."

Lathronios wanted to know the details. The merchant told him everything in a state of utter shock. Lathronios recognized immediately that his merchant has never killed anybody, by accident or not. Such a weakling, Lathronios had thought.

"If he carried him out it means he is still alive, stop shaking," Lathronios said. "Kelfran."

"Yes, your majesty?"

"This whole… Moreth," Lathronios said slowly. "Somebody from his family is ill, am I right?"

"His beloved, your majesty."

"Exactly. So we can figure out that it was his friend Legolas who had stolen supplies from the store to save the girl's life…" the majordomo nodded at the words, smiling cruelly. "Check on him. If he lives, tomorrow at dawn I want to see him in my dungeon, make sure he will be there. And now both of you get out," Lathronios walked to the window while Kelfran knelt respectfully and then left, taking the merchant with him.

Lathronios had been amused. Did Legolas really think he won't notice the lack of medicaments? Well, eventually, it was not about the medicines. It was about his disobedience. A slave dared to resist his will. The king briefly thought about punishing Legolas' friends instead of him, but he finally decided it won't be that amusing and he would certainly give Legolas a reason to revenge. No, he had a plan already.

When over two thousand years ago he claimed the power in Mirkwood, he had made his brother flee, accused of a murder he did not commit. Thranduil left to save his life, leaving his beloved woman in an advanced pregnancy. She could not have escaped with him, so she stayed and gave birth to Thrandruil's son instead. And she died.

This time Lathronios had nothing to do with it, it seemed to be a natural death. The labor was long and there were difficulties, Lathronios did not know the details and cared very little. Of course there had been a possibility of, for example, a poison added to some water, but it wouldn't have been his order. He could suspect Kelfran. The Elf was devoted to his King and he might have done it, but the woman did not concern Lathronios in the slightest.

The child was a boy. He was given a name Legolas, "little leaf". Lathronios felt strangely reluctant to kill the infant, especially when his father was gone and probably dead, just like his mother, and in mysterious circumstances all those who knew the truth about Thrandruil and could conspire against the new King were dead as well. Some of them he ordered to kill in public, some of them died in quiet or were murdered. Lathronios could see no reason to kill the newborn baby. He made the child his personal slave, watching his humiliation with mounting pleasure. He observed him when he was building fortifications and working with household. The King kept him close to be able to witness his struggle and with time he found lasting satisfaction in punishing the young Elf. He liked to watch his penalties, which were sometimes performed in his own chamber. The courtiers quickly learnt that humiliating Legolas during the feasts or a well-timed punishment can earn the King's favour. Time passed and Legolas learned to live with that, kept quiet and obedient, trying to give his tormentors no real reason to make him suffer.

The King came to love the evenings when his brother's son was being whipped in front of his armchair. His silent fight in the bonds was incredibly alluring, and more and more often Lathronios would get aroused at the sight. At first it unsettled him, but he quickly grew comfortable again after getting a habit of bedding another slave after such a show. Several times he ordered the guards to bring Legolas to his chambers without him transgressing anything at all.

Many times Legolas was in a dangerous oppression, but somehow he always managed to survive. The King didn't want his favourite toy to die, so if the healer was needed, Legolas could be sure he would get one. Such an open interest from the king resulted in alienating the Elf from his fellow serfs. Nobody wanted to risk getting the same attention.

It proved to be a good thing, too, because Lathronios noticed worrying things with time. He became aware of the young, strong Legolas, who resembled his father so much. The same eyes, the same hair. The same pride. There could still be people who could connect the previous King of the realm with this boy. Lathronios decided to keep him close, to be able to watch him. And with every, even the smallest opportunity, punish him strictly.

And then the merchant demanded him for the night. Lathronios agreed, curious how it will change the proud Thranduil's son; he wanted to break his pride and make this blue, father-like eyes shut with fear and degrade. Petrel the Merchant had been a perfect tool for this purpose. Lathronios grew restless when hearing his royals joke about the boy and the 'affection' the King was giving him. The best solution would be to get rid of his enemy's spawn and this way seal the secret for ever. The opportunity for that had been all too beautiful to be real.

Even when that idiot merchant screwed everything, I handled it perfectly, Lathronios mused with a smirk, taking another sip of the ruby liquid. The plan had been simple. Legolas never found out that Petrel had failed and left him untouched. He paid dearly for stealing the medicaments. And there had been the issue of Mirkwood's debt. Lathronios had to thank Elrond from Rivendell for the help he had showed. Healing supplies and food were desperately needed after very long and very strong winter and a poor harvest in spring and summer. If it hadn't been for the help from Imladris, they would have starved. And it would have been easy for some kind of a disease to spread, firstly among slaves, then among others.

_Elrond, that honorable, weak, old fool,_ Lathronios smirked. Such a strange mixture, and yet he rules. _I'm sure he had been quite fond of a little plaything just for him. His wife had left him, and he had never been keen on the ladies… He had to fast long. I'm sure he enjoyed a little whore for his leisure. Or maybe it was too difficult to tie that supple body down and just use it?_

"Oh, in that case surely there were others…" Lathronios muttered to his glass.

_But it would be good, by the way, to find out how my brother's seed is managing. Is he still alive? If so, I hope he did not change his habits and is still just as beautifully obedient as we taught him…? It would be good to send somebody there to check…_

"Soon," he sighed and decided to wait until Dinlir returns with the troops to send him out before the first snow. Lathronios waited impatiently for Dinlir's return. He would probably be carrying some new information about Thranduil's place of abiding. He glanced casually at the various acts of dispossession, reports on people and death sentences.

"Soon, Legolas. Soon."


End file.
